#is because that's for whatever reason something I always end up singing in real life whenever I embalm an autopsy

[capslocked]

PART & PARCEL

male reader x sana && tzuyu

18k words

“Is it too late?” Sana asks, and here’s how it always starts with her.

Nevermind that it’s not a question in search of an answer. A normal person could, should, text you. Hey, what’s up? or something equally inconspicuous before turning up the dial, are you busy? can I, like, come over? 

Instead, she’s at your doorstep again, twirling a bundle of honey-blonde between her fingertips as if she doesn't know what all that does to people. Some people say, incorrectly, that these are the hours of the night shared with ghosts. And to that you say: No, these hours belong to Sana, clearly, and apparently nobody fucking else. 

Now in a way, you do get it. It’d be easier to turn back over in your bed and ignore the elegant simplicity of a text message, or one step beyond that, do the unthinkable and finally tell her no, but when she’s standing there - there with that face, like a thousand different excuses or a million little reasons why she needs something from you, right now - and all she has to do is push her lips together, eyebrows going high - 

It is a bit like magic, after all, this feeling when she comes around. 

Everything that happened before - her visits, the first one and then the next - no matter how impossible, gets washed away, and suddenly all you have is her. Her voice, her hair, and a sneaking suspicion that the time apart really isn’t such a bad thing, because you don't always have a guess as to what comes next.

Of course, you were always going to let her in.

“I saw the lights were on,” she adds, starting to shrug off her coat like she knows you will.

“I mean, I’m here,” you say, non-committal.

“Yeah. I can see that.”

The door's half open and the only substantial hesitation you have is when you peer over her shoulder. There’s another girl, propping herself up against the doorframe, with a pretty head of glossy, sable hair falling gracefully down her shoulders, and she looks at least a few years younger than Sana. You smile cautiously at her before giving Sana another, much longer glance. In response, you receive a wink that's as subtle as a brick through a glass window (which only raises more questions). You ask the one that seems most important.

What else would Sana, of all people, possibly want to bring you if not some plaything or another. You've seen it all: girls who liked her money, girls who liked her body, girls who just flat-out liked girls, whatever. The dynamic always seemed to be, as long as everyone is having a good time, nothing to get hung up about - because at the end of the night, everyone comes around to Sana again.

And she comes around to you. 

Why question it.

“This is a little… irregular,” you say with a nod of your chin, as you step back from the door. "Who's the plus one?"

Sana motions the girl in with a sweep of her hand and throws you another disarmingly flirtatious smile - the same one that'd first left you utterly hooked by this strange person, who had, when you first met, walked into your life for five minutes, then fucked your lights out the way she wanted. She goes further with this, of course, teasing a warm smile and slanting an eyebrow.

"I figured I'd bring you a gift," she coos, in this sultry, dusky sing-song of a voice that really needs no followup whatsoever, other than maybe take my clothes off right now, as she makes a show of how she's pushing her shoulders back, like there's an audience to be impressed with the curve of her bust. "Since we were celebrating."

"Uh-huh. What's the occasion?"

"Whatever the hell you'd like," Sana chirps.

With that, she takes you by the collar. And even though the girl she brought is in the middle of, like, peering around curiously in your foyer, Sana leans up on the balls of her feet and kisses you hard. It's a real kiss - no preamble - which is sort of funny, given you would have been more than okay with some. So, naturally, you're caught entirely off-guard. It takes a full ten, fifteen seconds of feeling her hot little mouth pressed insistently up against yours, your mind gone blank with the suddenness of the moment. Your body taking it for granted.

Meanwhile, the other girl blinks - long, dark lashes batting the curve of her cheekbones slowly until Sana has moved to stand in front of her with the full, earnest intention to cup her jaw, tilt her head down a smidge, and kiss her too (very thoroughly, also, in her own way).

Sana lets the girl go with a sharp draw of air and a peck. Then she looks at you, just this side of playful. The way her teeth flash over her bottom lip suggests how she's enjoying, to her bones, this state of affairs: a dalliance with control, with desire, where she can flaunt it.

She tells you to relax, unwind, which you suppose is code for taking another of Sana's friends and bending her over every horizontal surface in your flat and fucking someone the way you've wanted for the last however-long it's been since Sana dropped back into your life. You've done as much. Some rotating cast of characters: Mina, Chaeyoung, Nayeon, the raven haired girl with the perfect tits; some names and faces starting to run together the more Sana pops up at your place with a girl under one arm, usually looking half bored and half shy - or at least putting up some pretense that might justify Sana telling them to strip down while she's already eyeing you with this look like she's wondering which article of clothing you'll be ripping off her first.

"Does she have a name?" you ask, with a nod vaguely in her direction. Of course it's a loaded question. What's her name doesn't matter. You don't know most of their names.

But when you do a double-take, remembering to steal a good look, you're not sure you've ever seen anyone pull off that perfect little white dress quite the way she does - the kind that goes right up the back, tucked under the neck, sleeves coming to a neat point across her fingers. Sana may or may not have a thing for pretty girls in cute dresses, but this is, without question, the most obvious bribe you've ever witnessed in your life.

Sana's still smirking - so much for being considerate, you think for a second, until you’ve got a dainty hand stretched into yours like you’re brushing up with royalty. And well, maybe you’re getting a better look now that she isn’t bathed in the calm, assured wickedness that two A.M. might only ever know - the dark curling like wind around her fingers and down the lines of her spine, cajoling.

She is gorgeous.

And she says - 

“Chou Tzuyu,” in this charming little voice that’s even more mesmerizing than you anticipated, this taut thread winding itself up between the two of you. She says her name with a gentle sigh, a light in her eyes that you know, intimately, not to trust, but you get the sense that she'd rather you make an exception for her - or at least for the night. “Everyone calls me Tzuyu.”

You feel a squeeze at your fingers, an anxious reminder from Sana's thumb, as if she feels the reverie in which you've lapsed. It draws you back, just slightly so.

"Tzuyu," you say, taking mental note of the faint smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth when you do. "How much do you know?"

She twists in Sana's direction, and oh, look how eager and innocent and coquettish Tzuyu's making herself in front of her, smiling. What do I say, the gesture is asking. You can see her effort to hold back a giggle or two as she bites her lip, trying, as all the pretty girls who come through these doors often try, to come up with something cute and modest and small that'll allow you and Sana to picture exactly the right thing. You can tell when a person is not used to having an audience.

"I know Sana..." Tzuyu's voice trails as she gives Sana a furtive glance. "She talks about you a lot. And I figured, you know."

"What? That we were good friends?"

"Sure," Tzuyu laughs to herself lightly again. "Whatever makes it easier."

Sana has her fingers threaded beneath Tzuyu’s chin, studying her like she’s an artifact that belongs behind glass. Expensive. One of a kind. And oh-so-excessively fragile.

The way Sana touches her, she may be trying to prove the point, guiding her body's angles and edges towards whatever form she sees fit, with just fingertips and the slightest tug, showing you exactly how malleable the girl can be. The look on Tzuyu's face is hardly discomfited when her dress slides past the dips of her shoulders or the slope of her waist, when the fabric gets crumpled in Sana's hand like the most expensive balled-up tissues in the universe. You can't decide what animal comes to mind: perhaps a deer, some cute, unknowingly doomed elk.

"No underwear," you note, watching.

Sana draws herself a little closer to Tzuyu with an appreciative gaze, lips gently landing at her shoulders, neck.

"Why bother?" Tzuyu muses. "What were we going to use them for?"

A pull here, a tug there, and the dress puddles around Tzuyu's feet, silk shimmering like the inky dark of a starless sky. And just shy of a pedestal and perhaps a fucking moonbeam, she's the spitting image of perfection: porcelain skin stretching out over a masterwork of curves and bone and muscle. A sculpture, a study in the form that so frequently leaves people just absolutely dumbstruck and thirsty in their wake.

Sana trails her hand around the width of her hip - drawing your eye along the skin of her leg, up and around the perfectly curved thigh - stopping to splay her fingers just so at the base of her spine, as if in demonstration of ownership. Like this: mine.

"Don't get it confused," Sana tells you. "The whole naive innocence thing is a total fucking misdirection."

"Tzuyu," you say again, this time noticing the way it feels in your mouth, syllables sweet and sticking to its roof like honey - maybe something more of an excuse to move forward and touch her yourself, palm her face, brush your thumb over her bottom lip. A taste, something subtle but intense, spreads to the back of your throat, the moment her teeth graze gently over its pad. "Is that true?"

"Are you asking me what kind of girl I am?"

"I didn't put it exactly like that."

"Just answer, sweetheart," Sana says, brow quirked in a faux-display of nonchalance, fingers still pressed, spreading gently at her neck. She's enjoying this a little too much. Though, you're enjoying this too. It doesn't have to be an either-or kind of scenario.

"It's better if you say it," she adds after a second of consideration, and even though it's obvious by now she's only prodding and that this is a foregone conclusion, Tzuyu puts an emphatic twitch in her lips - red, wet, a vision in crimson - like the thought is deeply troubling and will likely require lots and lots of thorough explanation later.

"Fine, okay, in that case," Tzuyu starts with a weary sigh, and then with a blink-and-you've-missed-it flash of a smirk, there's no way anyone's buying any of this, "I’ll say: I'm whatever kind of girl you want me to be."

Sana was right, and she didn’t even need to go so far as to say it. It’s clear - you want her.

But it's half as easy to pinpoint where it all starts: there's the way Tzuyu melts, sinking just that much further when you guide your hands around the curve of her ribs, fingers following the flow of her soft edges, the slopes and valleys of her breasts, and she parts her lips even before yours touch the seam of her mouth, her breath warm, heavy, the kind of anticipation that sends jolts down her neck, her spine, the body electric - a real live wire.

Or, it's because of the way she likes it - like, really likes it. There's something exceptional in a girl who will wrap her legs around your waist and suck your tongue and whimper just by a feather's touch around her hips or between her thighs, where it's damp and hot and holy shit, this is unreal in a very tactile, visceral way. There's no mistaking the noise for anything but genuine pleasure when Tzuyu's trying, unsuccessfully, to bite down the whine sneaking up her throat and into your mouth - where you're kissing her, still - the kind that presses heavy at the bottom of your stomach.

Or, there's Sana yet, pulling her clothes off, and instead of leaving a trail in her wake, folds each piece neatly until she's bared down to this fine little number of lace and cream-colored silk that'd make your head spin if you weren't, y'know, pretty busy, mouth occupied by Tzuyu's pliant moans, both of your tongues colliding.

"God," Tzuyu groans out quietly as you pin her to the wall, and again after another string of kisses, sucking your lip. 

There are fleeting moments that slip through like sunlight that have you thinking: Right, this was a good idea, nothing other than a sweet girl like this all messed up and squirming with the shallow dig of your nails. But only close to perfect.

Sana will explain it.

"Mm. Not god." Sana is grinning when she leans up for the same kiss, but she takes her time with it: mouth slotted tight against Tzuyu's as her long fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of Tzuyu's neck, working her grip up slowly so that the strain gets more noticeable until the girl is a gasp on a choke of breath. The curve of her back is drawn out by that same hand and her ribs pressed, pert and rosy, into the cool air.

"Sir, and please," Sana then instructs, voice just harsh enough for Tzuyu to understand. 

You might imagine she's also drawing in with her nails, teeth, a full-body drag up her exposed front, like some kind of prize, marking and tasting and fucking every inch. There's a whimper, desperate sound of, yes, right, fuck, please, and sir slipping like a sigh off the edge of Tzuyu's tongue. 

"Or better yet," Sana adds, with another searing press into the junction of her collarbone, "say daddy, please," then follows through on the plea with another slow-pull.

You try not to roll your eyes. It's Sana's kink, not yours. It's a whole thing. And with Sana, like most things, you find it best when you simply play along.

More than that, you indulge her. You both do.

"Okay, daddy." Tzuyu's teeth catch the corner of her mouth in a self-amused bite. Twisting and twisting the swell of her lip further until it snaps forward. "I want you to tell me something," she says, which, for the way this typically goes, is a little more self-assured and pressing than the usual fare. Even Mina, who was perhaps less than enthusiastic about the - uh - title in question, came around eventually when she had Sana's fingers, your cock, all sunk so deep inside her she forgot what any fucking words were anyway.

So maybe Sana does know what she's doing with this one. Maybe you oughta thank her.

Tzuyu just lifts her chin, says, "this isn't what I expected when I showed up here."

"Obviously, it's not," Sana says.

"What I mean is, this is all good fun, of course," Tzuyu explains. A charming indignance that slips past, like the fingers down her belly. She swallows hard, muscles clenching as your palm runs slow over a hip, squeezing. "Though I guessed when we left Sana's, I would've been bouncing on his cock five minutes ago."

Sana's lithe little frame ends up closer - nearly naked in lace and wholly difficult to miss. She's a half head shorter than the girl in front of you, but with a tilt of her chin and a beckon of her hand, it's a powerful look about the lines of her face: eyes slightly hooded, mouth curved and devastating. It's as if, at every hour of the night, the simplest glance will have the fabric of someone's clothing coming undone, regardless.

Tzuyu is just slowly trading looks between the two of you. So curious. "So what then, do I have to do," her words curl like smoke up her throat, "to get fucked by both of you, hm? In, like, the next five or ten more minutes, preferably."

"He's not going to fuck your brains out simply because you ask." Which by the way, is the first real lie Sana tells tonight.

Tzuyu is unimpressed, or maybe she's a stoic. "Clearly," she deadpans.

Whatever the expression is that is fluttering those gorgeous lashes, eyebrows pulled down, adds a faint mark of distrust across her brow. The prettiest scoffs you've ever heard. "Isn't the point to get me spread out on your sheets so you can use me like a little fucktoy?"

A sigh from Sana: heavy, calculated. She does not reply in any obvious way to that, no flimsy assurances that it would be whatever the hell Tzuyu likes (though you think maybe Sana might want to take this whole fucking opportunity, all this thinly veiled begging for it, for the first taste of what will probably be the main thing that'll hold her over the edge of an orgasm or two). 

So, instinctually, Tzuyu pushes it, just enough - she tilts her head, and the motion is followed by a wide sashay of her hips as she gently presses a fingertip to your chest, encouraging a step back to better your balance, like the pull between you has a little more gravity.

"Don't go quiet on me." Another sultry note pulls from her mouth when she guides you another foot - or however many, until the foyer opens up into your living room. The chair, the sofa, a table, you watch her eyes wander like she's mapping the territory. And then finally she drops her hands from your shoulders, reaching instead for Sana, taking her waist in her palms.

Holding her. Kissing her.

There's a delicateness about both of them, clearly, and not only how Tzuyu angles their lips, as if she doesn't fully intend for the two to merge but instead taste the line, test the edges, or something; but Sana doesn't fight this. In fact, when Sana's being drawn gently, but confidently into a deeper, harder press, a very eager give, her eyes slip closed. There's a war, and Sana - though she'd be the last to admit it - is losing.

Tzuyu, at the end of a particularly sharp draw of air, simply turns to you, eyes peeking over the tousle of copper hair atop Sana’s head, and asks: "How does daddy want to play with his toys?"

It clicks in your head immediately: she's a natural, could be an actress, maybe a pro - you have no idea where Sana found her - even if that doesn't exactly match with the diction; daddy, and sir, and the baby-girl pout. There are the things she does to Sana, this slipstream of control passed back and forth and back and forth again - a fevered tugging, the give of one or the other. An entirely different dance. Beautiful, fluid, intense.

Eventually, it lands in your lap. Literally and metaphorically. Tzuyu looks up from where she's kneeling between your legs and with a little pinch of your hips, tells you with that intoxicately sweet, melodic voice of hers, that you seem like the sort who wants someone who just takes initiative.

And she's right.

"May I?" she asks, breathlessly, fingers at the zip.

"Of course,” Sana answers for you, settling into her side like you both belong to her. Like she’s about to enjoy this just as much as you are.

What does the room sound like, the darkness giving away? Everything. The hum of the appliances, the purr of the heat, something in the walls is settling into its final position for the night as the floorboards sigh. Breathing. Listening.

What you don't hear:

Chou Tzuyu moving - whether she shifts onto her knees, or adjusts how her slender fingers fall from the waist of your pants, doesn't matter - no crunch, no shuffle. She doesn't swipe away the hair from her eyes or drag the pad of a thumb over her swollen, bottom lip. All she does is pull, just a bit, and the zipper breaks the silence, comes apart down the way.

Sana clears her throat gently, hoping, possibly, that Tzuyu might be the kind of girl who just loses herself to the moment, caught in the headlights. The way every delicate, doe-eyed girl is supposed to do. Sana likes them a little helpless like that - makes her feel big.

It's too bad really, because Tzuyu doesn’t appear like she's awash with anything in particular. Or at the very least, she's done a fairly convincing imitation of not being the slightest bit off-put, completely disarmed or whatever Sana had been looking to see.

She does look up though. Long, pretty face still managing a bit of devastation from this angle. Those full lips slightly pouted and slick in red: such an inviting color against her pale skin.

"Sana," she coos, eyes wide and brilliant - innocent, yet taunting all at once - and she's deliberate in what she says next, flitting her tongue across her canines to punctuate every sound: "Isn’t daddy going to use me now?"

"Oh." Sana leans in, eyes flicking up at you, Tzuyu's hands, her body, and starts slowly, like she's exacting a punishment, "Tzuyu, baby," her own anticipation beaming off the surface of her thousand-kilowatt grin, "you're going to take that perfect cock," the words dripping off Sana's tongue, heavy, sweet, "you're going to take it, get your pretty little lips all over it sweetie, you're going to show him just how good you can use that filthy fucking hole of a mouth for him. You're going to take him until he cums in your throat, and then you're going to beg him for more. And if you can do that, well. Then we’ll fuck you exactly how you wanted."

Tzuyu blinks - doting and innocent like the angel everyone probably thinks she is.

But then what you've learned about the angels that Sana brings you: they're devils in disguise, well familiar with the sin and lust that resides in these places; sunk into the cushions of the couch, pressed against the cold pane glass of a window, wound tight in the springs of a mattress. You had long thought - and think, you do, particularly when doing the unthinkable - it's easier that way, to leave aside thoughts of right and wrong and ask: Just how far can an angel fall?

"Ah. Perfect," Tzuyu says, sounding like an answer, and her eyes widen as she peels past that band of elastic.

Your cock springs forward and bumps into the pad of her finger, which traces the length of it like it's hers to own, to pleasure.

"God," she hums with satisfaction, and even without looking up, or even before you say a damn word, she draws her tongue up along the underside in one swift, wet lick. "Sana you weren’t exaggerating: daddy's cock is fucking gorgeous."

There is that tiny whine, or more precisely a tiny, oh fuck when Tzuyu curls her hand around your shaft. Sana gives her a push. "Say it, Tzuyu," she all but growls at her.

"Daddy," she says, always pausing on the word. Testing it further. "Please."

"Please," Sana mimics in faux-sweetness, repeating it again once you start to nod.

Not that it changes much - the stare that Tzuyu fixes you is charmingly determined, like a challenge. Then, she inhales.

Deep.

That slide into her mouth is smoother than anything, hot and slippery and oh, right - you remember faintly with a shudder: those pretty teeth hidden away behind a perfectly lascivious mouth, so much that a couple sharp, expert brushes are enough to send lightning dancing along your spine. Sana moves her hands across your hips, to the buttons on your night shirt, working her way up until the fabric has fallen to the side and she can open your chest up to the air, let Tzuyu swallow the rest.

This, Tzuyu likes. "Ah," she gasps around you, or she tries to, your cock propped up on her soft little tongue.

She likes the way that feels. The way you fit in her hands, her mouth. And it shows. Her posture curls deliciously, under the satisfaction of her lips wrapping finally having something to wrap around tight, tight, tighter - under Sana's roaming touches, the skirting of her nails down Tzuyu's chest, reaching with slow deliberation across her stomach until there's a whisper of skin across sensitive flesh.

“She’s so fucking wet,” Sana tells you, smiling at Tzuyu from above and fitting a fingernail between her teeth. "Good fucking girl, aren't you Tzuyu?"

The moan that leaks out around the weight of your cock is pure. Pure lust, pure pleasure. Pure perfection. Her tongue flattens beneath you and finds you surging even deeper, a firmer slide of Tzuyu's wet lips that brings you right into the roof of her mouth - as she twists her face around you, a soft scrape against the inside of her cheek.

You sigh.

And Sana sighs back.

"Of course. Always such a hidden talent," she notes, as Tzuyu's perfect mouth moves and plucks and teases your nerves, twirling her tongue around your tip. Again as she swallows you down, slow, savoring.

“Tell me,” you say, because the heat of Tzuyu’s mouth is starting to remind you of a daydream, “how exactly do you know each other?”

"Work," Sana answers, flatly.

"Like-"

"Yup."

"She sings?"

"She does - rather, she will." Sana glances sidelong with a bit of a grin. "You have no idea what that tongue can do to people when it's got some good backing tracks, when it knows a goddamn fucking thing about rhythm. Speaking of," Sana looks down at where Tzuyu has her silky brown head of hair bobbing between your legs.

And then it's clear what she means, Tzuyu humming and rolling your shaft through the flat of her tongue. It's all slick, soaking heat and the tension building and building in your balls, aching, just absolutely desperate for more friction, to be taken and used and stuffed in her throat - or just more of this.

"Here," Sana's fingers are hooked in your pants, helping them off your legs, your ankles, pulling you further to the edge of the sofa. Let me, she's telling Tzuyu, this slight murmur of want she just can't wait on.

"Wait, I'm -" Tzuyu attempts, pulling her lips off the curve of your cock, to where pre-cum is weeping out of its tip, and she kisses it so very tenderly, going back for round two. Round three. She floats her fingers up over her eyebrows, into her fringe, all to tuck some dark, wispy hair gently behind her ear when she starts to hollow her cheeks and again suck your cock in earnest.

Until -

"Tzuyu," Sana reprimands her, "don't play, daddy's got his work cut out for him tonight. So be a good girl, and let me show you what he likes."

It takes a second, maybe three. It might take longer if Sana didn't have her fingernails digging into her thighs, sliding further to grab hold of Tzuyu by the hair and pull her lips off your shaft. There's a thin trail of spit coming off her mouth and stringing across you. Sana closes her fist in the back of Tzuyu’s hair and doesn't so much as blink while studying the look on her face: lips glistening, just absolutely needy, like she can't help the whimper in her throat.

"Hm?" Sana cocks her head to the side.

"But... sir."

"You are his toy," Sana explains, flashing her eyebrows because apparently it needs to be said, "not the other way around."

And it may be the first time you've seen it happen since Sana walked in with Tzuyu and declared her intentions: the fluster, the pink spread across Tzuyu's features like some scarlet-lettered stain. Defenses dropped like a draw-bridge. She's not quite every bit as cool and composed as she wants the two of you to think she is. (They never are.)

But the fact that Tzuyu's coy little smile returns into her lips - how she's wiping the spit off her mouth with the sharp edge of her hand and pointing your cock in Sana's direction with a delicate, arched brow, how she then moves on, untangling herself from Sana's grasp, eyes heavy, but on her - is a marvel in and of itself.

It’s an amusing surprise, a welcome one, for the simple reason that Tzuyu keeps showing both of you that she can have anything she wants exactly like this: wrapped around a slender fingertip, flushed and helpless, and without breaking a sweat. 

"Have you considered daddy wants both our mouths on his cock and maybe a few less words?" Tzuyu scoffs. And even though Sana does scoff right back in retort, that's exactly how it plays out.

(And you may, upon occasion, reflect: you're a real lucky bastard.)

Sana always puts on this act. One that you’ve learned to see right through. 

Like she isn't too eager to follow the momentum, that she hadn't just been just as impatient to touch you - to be on her knees with Tzuyu, all aside this beautiful girl who gives you a pretty smile when her tongue finds the base of your cock. Who likes being bossed around but can just as easily turn her face towards yours - in what seems almost like a taunt - as if saying: You know what else I like? to be challenged, and sometimes when the mood’s right, pushed and punished. 

But Sana doesn't let you see what kind of resolve she has until she's gone another minute, licking, lapping her tongue around your cock - this is her idea, after all. The little white dress in a heap, the adoration and worship that comes with fucking girls she knows are the prettiest things to see ruined.

Listen - even if Sana’s veneer is as blatantly obvious as it is shatterably thin, she’s no less dangerous. 

When she first pushes the very head of your cock inside her mouth, and just that - because why rush it, she's so fucking perfect with those pretty lips - the rest of your brain is shouting something to the tune of fuck me sideways because she knows you better than anyone, knows what really gets your blood burning. 

A few slow brushes, one kiss, this lick that goes bottom to top and over and around. It’s like she's testing the surface, dragging her lips across your aching cock as she settles on a rhythm, a tempo that starts to mirror the movements of Tzuyu's hand.

Tzuyu lets you see: this slow twist, this slide of skin up and down the length of your shaft, her soft fingers rubbing tight circles up and down the path of her palm until it meets Sana’s mouth. And like it’s the most simple thing in the world, she dips down, finds a place at the base of your cock, where Sana’s lips can’t quite reach, and drops a hot, messy kiss right across the spot.

Fuck.

She kisses you everywhere.

"Sana," you start to say, and she looks up through the strands of blonde fallen slightly in front of her face. Her lips sink further down the length of your cock - until she hears your breath catch in the bottom of your throat. Until she’s pulling you up and out, again, just barely past her teeth.

Fuck.

"Mm." She hums it right into your skin, and her eyes are hooded, dipping right down with another pull of spit, and then another, before her lips are at the tip once more, flicking across the slit with her tongue - wet and rough.

"Sana," you try again, biting into your lip as you reach a hand into the gold locks of hair framing her deceptive, pretty little face, and tug, a warning, a reminder. You need. It's too early for you to be repeating yourself, and Sana knows that.

A pop, the release of her mouth slipping off the top of your cock, and Tzuyu moves - wrapping her lips tight and silken around the sides, the rest. It all happens in an instant. You're being taken with the sudden, harsh suction of one mouth, the other, fluid and slipping back and forth again and again.

Sana's nodding along, impressed, as she watches Tzuyu take you - completely, nose to your hip - and has a glint of pure hunger shining through her eyes when you hiss, when she kisses along the lines of Tzuyu's stretched lips. There's another flick of a tongue, and you can feel Tzuyu moan something muffled and choked, a frantic pulse at the base of your spine - pressure gathering like a fucking flood.

"Just how you like it, hmm?" Sana says, her breath warm on your balls as she seals her own mouth right over the base of your shaft. And you swear there's something about this: the drag and suck of both their lips as your hips stutter forward, the feeling of them pressed together in a perfect line, heads tilted and mouths fucking dripping with saliva and sin - your hands, resting on the backs of their heads as they're returning you these greedy little moans that vibrate off the top of your cock and nearly kill you in the process.

“Tell me,” Sana adds, dragging a hot, hazy kiss over the sensitive skin up your shaft. "How's daddy feeling? Hmm? Feels nice and perfect, doesn't it. Feels like you could just let go and release, a hot, sticky load of cum, right down her fucking throat. I know she’ll swallow every drop."

"Fucking hell, Sana-"

Sana doesn't exactly answer to your begging, only hikes Tzuyu a fraction higher over your body to gain better control of the rhythm, and a better view: the hollowed out cheeks, her watery, half-shut eyes, tears welling in her lashes - because the prettiest girls always come apart in the most perfect ways.

You grip into all that silky brown hair, thumb running gently up and over the soft skin behind her ear as she finds an exacting little movement with her lips that will have your spine twitching uncontrollably as you fuck deeper down the perfect arch of her throat, Sana keeping rhythm, guiding you all the way in - a searing heat, and then a new rush of saliva dripping off Tzuyu's chin and back down into the tangle of tongues, fingers, throats, mouths.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The pair of them. The things they're doing.

"Or maybe," Sana muses, tilting her head on an angle that suggests she's weighing her options, and then, massaging a quick, firm twist into the very base of your cock she finally lets spill: "You could make a mess of that perfect face," Tzuyu's faint whimper hardly slips out unnoticed, "I'd hold her hair for you while you cum all over her - how about that baby, should we make a big mess of your pretty face?"

The whimper grows louder - Tzuyu moans long and low, right up against the tightening tension gathering between your hips, right as your balls pull, that familiar coil about to break - and, god, if there's some part of you committed to holding the moment, waiting and wanting to stay in the vision of these two perfect mouths pressed together, it's a fleeting and useless notion - but, as usual, Sana already knows.

The way they're blowing you in perfect tandem, their mouths locked together, kissing around your shaft as they continue to pleasure you, filthy and open - a little more, the thought percolates, a little longer, to let the pressure swell.

"Sir," Tzuyu says, swallowing her next breath, and that's the first you've heard her sound like that: whining, pleading.

She slaps your cock against her lips, her tongue - it's all so wet with spit and precum and slick that her chin is coated, her fingers. A demonstration of what you should have already known: Sana's girls aren't just straight down the line. They want the messy, roughness that comes with the sin; the split in the seam, the wail, the raw, uncut want.

You watch Tzuyu’s lips curl, this quiet smile pressed against your cock, and after a slow draw of air, they fall open again. Asking, "aren't you going to fuck your toy's slutty little mouth?"

The silence of the night swallows up the sounds of Sana's low chuckle and the responding squelch of her fingers tearing free, her hand trailing after. Here’s three bodies in the otherwise ordinary emptiness of your living room, on the edges of the leather sofa, so completely drenched in anticipation and hunger.

There’s a flash across Sana's rounded cheeks, hot, like she's just this small space shy of smirking, or giving into something, you don't know. Tzuyu, however, you've got a fairly clear view of - how her eyes glaze, pupils going wide and dark, staring up at you as she places the shape of your cock so acutely up the length of her perfect features: chin supporting its base, the cute, button-like tip of her nose teasing the soft underbelly of skin pulled taut - a fucked up preamble to whatever the hell it is going to feel like, once she's ready for more.

"Say please, sweetie," Sana says, fluttering her fingers over Tzuyu's neck. And then to you, as an aside: "If there isn't a better way to break in a toy."

When Tzuyu doesn't immediately reply, Sana leans over her, with a fingertip under her chin, guiding her hot, wet lips to the edge of your cock.

"Ask daddy to fuck his filthy little whore."

"Ah," Tzuyu lets out an awkward exhale. "Daddy?" she pauses to swallow, licking her lips, then, with just the slightest inflection, this tight line, right at the border, somehow managing to hit both notes of I'm going to make you beg for it and is it okay for me to be begging you for more: "Please, daddy. Fuck my face."

But then the way she fucking looks - petulant, needy, like if you don't shove your cock down her throat in seconds it could kill her - that's the realest thing you've seen from her since she shuffled through your front door wearing a dress that belongs in someone's heaving, pent up fantasy and left it in a careless pile in the middle of your foyer, tits bouncing on her way into the living room. And somehow, that's a lot to take in: to think this whole debacle has led up to her, this girl you're probably never gonna see again, pressing the pucker of her perfect, pretty lips to the underside of your cock, and -

"Open," Sana cuts in, "your fucking mouth."

Tzuyu gulps thickly and stretches her jaw, blinking expectantly as her pink, slender tongue sticks out the faintest, most insinuating inch.

You lift your hips with one good thrust, the plushness of her mouth becoming soft and velvet as she opens wider, and wider still, and you're balls deep, hilt hitting her lips as she opens her eyes, taking you down her throat, slick and slow.

"Good girl," Sana grins, watching Tzuyu swallow around you. 

You may be buried into her throat but the sound of Sana's encouragement has Tzuyu keening, this wrench in her brow like she wants to focus so fucking badly. Only made worse when Sana bundles a handful of Tzuyu's long, glossy hair into a fist and gets her voice into the shell of her ear. 

"I know you love it, Tzuyu, how he's fucking taking you, huh? That's it. Show daddy how good of a toy you can be."

And oh, the reaction - the very clear one, no less. Tzuyu grips onto the cushion of the couch, a full set of fingers curling around Sana's forearm, any part of you - the one closest and she's digging her sharp nails into your skin and whimpering for Sana to keep talking like her life depends on it.

"Let me see if you can be as good as you think you are," Sana murmurs, and you shift forward again, bucking your hips just barely but getting there, and then there's more, fuck - getting closer to a good steady pace. Slow, forceful. Hitting the very back of her throat, the bottom of her lips.

Tzuyu can only respond by taking you impossibly deep.

"Remember what you told me?" Sana's biting her lip, finding as much satisfaction out of the mere display.

"Mnnph," Tzuyu chokes out before slipping off your cock, only long enough to gasp for another breath, "I said, I said - all the things I would let him do to me." Her voice sounds so wrecked. Broken. Desperate. Filthy, the kind that needs to be fucked. "Please, please," she says again.

"Tzuyu." Sana's fist tightens in Tzuyu's hair, and down Tzuyu goes. "You sounded so sure, baby - when you said you'd making him fucking cum so easy, how you'd make him bust over and over with this mouth, so -"

You're getting too close. It's really not your fault, it's the two of them. Every wince on your face a result of Tzuyu's swollen, shiny lips wrapped tightly around your cock, cheeks flush and hollow with every move of her mouth. She keeps doing this little flick of her tongue as her lips slide around you - even while Sana lifts her jaw up, down, up down, fucking her mouth onto your aching cock with a sort of callous disregard for how it's fucking her up - how it's fucking you up.

"-the prettiest girls make the best fucking cumrags, you know. Really - makes your toes curl," Sana finishes, giving one particularly pointed tilt of her head at the sight of how bad your knees are shaking.

And then, out the corner of her mouth, teeth locked over her lip, because you're so caught up in how good it feels fucking your length through the vice of Tzuyu's mouth, sliding across her wet tongue - "she's not lying baby, is she? Fuck, I bet she feels so fucking good on you doesn't she" - her voice hoarse and desperate, a hint of something caught at the back of her throat like she can almost taste what it's like. What it must feel like.

Sana pushes, and even she can probably feel you pulsing at the way Tzuyu chokes when the tip meets the drain of her throat.

It gets... it ends up too much, too fast. Borderline abusive - and not just the speed, or the sheer roughness - Nayeon was here on her knees, like this, in the middle of the night not too long ago, and deepthroating you is far from the unusual or accomplished, at this point. But, fuck if that isn't something you build up to.

The slight curve of Tzuyu's arms, rising as they tremble with the effort, the little tears that slip down her cheeks, and those lovely sounds she makes. It's not at all intentional - and you're so stupidly certain Sana didn't think you'd be this riled so quickly, like there's not an ounce of willpower in the world that could save you at this point.

And while that's not too surprising on its own - Sana knows you well, this is what she agreed to - Tzuyu must have understood (it was part of the plan, in fact) what she was walking into, what she was signing up for. But fuck it: she was still pretty new, an amateur. And an amateur just wouldn't be capable of doing the things she does, and looking the way she looks, not to the same extent as this.

"Can you cum from nothing but the feeling of daddy's dick hitting your throat? I'll have him sit back and relax while we work," Sana tells her.

It'd make two of you.

"Would you like that?" she's asking you, tilting her head when you've gathered yourself long enough. "No touching, just take my orders while we pleasure you. How does that sound, daddy?"

"Sana, easy," you practically growl, biting down on the inside of your cheek because the twitch in Tzuyu's pulse has you coming far too undone, her chest hitching and lungs heaving and face wet with spit and tears and cum as it's spilling down her chin. You're seconds from telling Sana to dial it back when a low, guttural sound, sputtering, leaves Tzuyu's throat.

The grip in Tzuyu's hair goes loose enough that she pulls herself up, swallowing up as much air as she can. 

And fuck, look at the damage: that swollen mess of her red, glistening mouth; the dark runs of mascara and drying tracks that make a ruin of her face, her neck; a heart-stopping shine of white drool. She blinks the tears off her lashes in a moment.

Sana’s eyeing her over the same way a surgeon might approach a task with a scalpel and a careful hand, or perhaps a fisherman surveying the quality of a catch - before tossing it to the back of a truck to be hauled back home. Like the kind of sight she gets just a little too much satisfaction at. And it's the eyebrow she shoots up into her mess of toffee-blonde hair that asks, quietly, too much?

Fuck. Maybe.

But Tzuyu's eyes shift toward Sana's, and without even an ounce of hesitation - without anything more than a heavy exhale - she opens her mouth again so you can see her tongue run across her top teeth, incensed in her lust. More, fuck me, have me, use me she's saying, telling with you the slight indignance in her eyes that Sana finds perfectly irresistible.

Then, as if unbothered by how far your cock had been slotted in her throat, she swallows. Says, "is that all, sir?"

And the sound that follows it, that shuddering sigh - breaking, cracking, shattering into the calm quiet of your apartment - Tzuyu takes you like it's more than enough. She's swallowing it all back down again.

“Fuck, Tzuyu, you’re-” you try, only to have her moan loud, so loud, when she drags her tongue down your cock and swallows around the whole thing in a way that has you gasping. Your hands end up wound tightly in her hair, weaving through the smooth waves, knuckles straining when it really sinks in. Just how deep down her throat you go, so perfectly deep, the stretch of her lips holding on the side of a grimace because she needs it that way. She can't have it any other.

"Go on," Sana murmurs into the side of your face, drawing closer so she's got her nails curled down into your thighs, leaning in to place a wet, hot kiss into your cheek. "C'mon baby, she'd told me she'd let you do anything - said she'd swallow everything, like the fucking cockslut she is."

Sana's chin digs against the bone in your shoulder, eyes unwavering on where you disappear over and over inside Tzuyu's throat. And it's not just that - Tzuyu's hair clenched tight in Sana’s one hand, the other curled hard into a fist around the base of your cock, her harsh breaths washing over the bare skin of your neck. It's fucking indecent, how needy she's gotten. How needy she always gets. You can feel her greedy little lips finding your ear and biting just shy of savage enough to break skin, and licking - flicking across the vein beating down in your throat, and then -

"That's right," Sana says with a low growl when you look at her. "Cum."

An impoverished sound rips right through your chest. Spreads through you like wildfire.

And just like that, you're spilling inside her, thrusts growing unsteady and lost in the wet, searing heat of Tzuyu's perfect, wet lips, slapping and sliding into her throat, spilling on her tongue with every surge of pleasure drumming in your blood.

Tzuyu sinks down further. So deep that the brush of the back of her throat feels like a hand on the hilt of a knife, tearing into the ends of your nerves, where they’ve come alight and been set ablaze.

Sana picks up again whispering into the cuff of your ear. It makes your head feel like it might explode. And you're almost entirely certain that's what will actually happen, when the combined pressure between your ears and that of your cock becoming so desperately spent builds and builds and doesn't stop, as though waiting. 

Biding time for some perfect snap.

Only, a tickle at the back of Tzuyu's throat has her choking out. The same uncontrolled way your hips start to falter - shaky, jerky motions instead of any precision or rhythm - and you're tilting and winding your head in circles, jaw tensed, squeezing her scalp and oh, oh fuck. Tzuyu's mouth slides itself all the way off you in one hurried gasp, then two and three, just barely giving her a chance to steady herself, all while you're still leaking thick, white cum all over the slick swell of her bottom lip, up over the ridges of her elegant features, the curves of her cheeks, the high arches of her brows.

Look - you're cumming all over Tzuyu's face. You’re cumming all over her pretty face and she just takes it.

She's, fuck - she's so, so good. And not just because her mouth is fucking perfection, or her eyes are all at once bleary but wide open, watching you twitch, her own cheeks flushing as she stares up at you - trying desperately to breathe, taking a quick lick off the end of your cock, flitting her tongue between her knuckles, because apparently another taste can't hurt.

"Ugh," Sana hushes, right into your neck, "would you just fucking look, see that - god, Tzuyu, how does it feel, does he taste as good as you hoped he would?"

There's a subtle, unmistakable bob in Tzuyu's throat as she's swallowing everything down, the evidence, and a small flash of her tongue. "Good, mmn-" and you can see how she struggles in her restraint to simply say so, to let her hand drift to the 'V' between her thighs and sate that ache.

But even if her body seems ready for more, Sana's finger finds its way underneath Tzuyu's chin to prompt, with one, simple command, "let's get you cleaned up before we give you what you came for. Go on, get our little girl up to the shower, won't you daddy?"

-

It's a minor miracle the three of you make it upstairs and down the hall without so much as a trip or stumble, the girls with their fingers woven together and hips swaying as you all stagger up. It's a minor miracle you don't pin either of them against drywall or up against a doorway or do any of the number of filthy things on the mind of a man just fucked, still coming down, with two gorgeous, perfect faces - two perfectly sculpted asses - all in arms' reach.

The bath mat is still bunched at the back of your bathroom door. Still damp from the last shower - Sana's last morning here - which you have to pry apart just a little so the two of them can file in.

And well - it does happen. Eventually.

At the sink.

Just inside the en suite of your bedroom.

With Sana, being the way she is.

While the faucet in the shower starts up a shallow stream of water - tap running warm, steaming the length of the mirror and condensing the glass that Sana will soon have Tzuyu's face up against if she has any say in the matter.

"Tzu," Sana says, carding a hand through her hair and bringing a damp washcloth up to the bend of her jaw. There's a slow trace of fingertips across the lines of her neck. "Keep your eyes right on his while I clean you up, ok?"

And then there's the mirror in the center. The three of you arranged - a sort of hierarchy - with Sana stepping forward and adjusting her stance in order to survey, and clean the mess she's made. (What you've made.)

In profile, you can't exactly make out a distinct detail about Tzuyu's face in the reflective surface, only the silvery blur that is the curve of her neck, and the silhouette of the small frame that her long, slim legs form against the cabinet. But the idea's always the same - she's being used like a perfect canvas. Like an empty, ready-to-use doll that you can twist and turn in the ways you want until all your control breaks and you're just fucking into her, or having her lick and suck all over Sana's gorgeous fucking tits while she's bouncing in your lap.

Whichever happens to come first.

"You missed a spot," Tzuyu tells Sana, as though she hadn't missed several - her head tilts in your direction, eyes wide still, endless in depth. Her mouth gives away what's already burning its way through her blood. "Maybe another pair of hands will help?"

"Mine are a little rough around the edges," you explain, coming in close. The bathroom is this tight, congested space, but at the right angle there's plenty of room, even if your hips knock slightly into Sana's body. Tzuyu's delicate body already has her back flush against the sink basin. "You want to feel them?"

She shakes her head, and even though the hunger on her tongue hasn't been satisfied, even after having a good fill, there's something else she'd rather have now.

"I think," she starts, her words cut off by a hitch of breath when Sana's lips travel to the very tips of her hair and work their way up to the soft skin behind her ear. "Rough is good, when... when I'm being," Tzuyu's closing her eyes - partly so that she doesn't fall off the edge so easily, partly to lean into the sensations of two warm bodies, all attention placed solely on her.

"When you're being worked over?" Sana offers.

"Ngh," she responds - with an attempt, as best as she can, at a smile. And then there's one, light, teasing stroke across her jaw, her mouth. Sana's thumb pressed gently into the crease. "When the fucking gets..." and you'll have to fill the gap - finishing her thought with your hands slotting themselves onto the gentle arch of her hips, pressing a kiss that doesn't even come close to satisfaction on the supple dip of collarbone.

She lets out this pretty sound at the feel of your lips, Sana's, all ghosting down her throat.

"Hard and deep?" you say. Sana smirks at this - continues the effort, "A little fucking nasty, huh, sweetheart?"

"Mhm." Tzuyu is, above all else, a little helpless. “Because - you know me so well.”

But make no mistake: Tzuyu is exactly where she wants to be. With the heat radiating off her bare body, she leans into it all, only flinching when your teeth catch her nipple - when Sana's tongue laps a rough circle over the other. The scene, the feelings, all of it orchestrated precisely - these are the things she likes, maybe loves even.

And after the soft sounds slip through her lips, a moan and another hum, she finds her words and voice, "hard and deep and, rough and, ff-"

"And?"

The quick brush of your tongue flickers across the hard tip. The sensation draws from Tzuyu this very faint cry and the exhale of a word: "Fast."

"Naughty little thing," Sana presses into her jaw, pulling back to regard you both. To lift a finger, wet the pad with her tongue - and reach down, down, down until her fingertips brush the very line of her thigh, into the slick between her legs. "I love it when girls get all messy."

"Please," is all Tzuyu has to say, barely anything but, as Sana's finger drags slowly inside her folds.

"Patience baby," she murmurs into Tzuyu's open mouth. The exchange is swift but thorough; you watch, all tongue and spit, and your fingers twitch with a sense of loss. "Why don't you remind me how this went last time?"

"Mm, listen here," Tzuyu says in an astute breath, the sound of it like tables turning. There's a firm pull on your wrist - the grip on it guiding you, encouraging you, just where she wants them, into the band of lace around Sana's impossibly narrow waist. You feel Sana sigh in relief, shiver at the touch of a warm palm up against her thighs, and into a pulse-wet cunt, as though the slightest touch will kill her. "I think you might be remembering wrong, Sana."

"And why might that be?"

"Weren't you the one begging me? When I had two fingers up your cunt in your apartment," Tzuyu presses forward, voice lilt and darkening like ink, and Sana whines and crumbles in her palms, knees buckling when there's one sudden and rough slide of fingers right on the base of her spine.

"Yeah?" Sana asks with a rising blush, already knowing the answer - it's her fatal flaw: she's all sharp edges and pointed teeth, right up to the point there's a finger at her own throat, a cock in her hands and a girl working at her clit until she's drooling. "Are you suggesting I'm easy? Is that where you're heading with this?"

Tzuyu's leaned up against the counter, turning Sana's slender frame around in her hands, until she has her fingers up on the over the wire of Sana's bra, palms hot beneath the thin cups, feeling for her nipples, and the change in dynamic is as palpable as the steam rising in the room.

"Let’s not put words in my mouth," she responds simply, dropping another kiss into the back of Sana’s hair. There's another one laid along the sweep of her neck, like a careful bite, and with a lift of a brow, a look that tells you what you've always known, "but if you’re asking, then sure, the sluttiest of all sluts. Easy," she pulls the cups down Sana’s chest, "as fuck."

It gets to her, clearly, as if that moan falling out of Sana's parted lips could mean anything else.

"Daddy?" Tzuyu asks, because apparently she's enjoying the bit, easing into all parts of the character. She can't seem to contain her grin.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you ask, dipping your finger down into Sana's cunt, and fuck - the girl is so, so slick for it. She needs to be taken and torn, that much is clear. Her whimpers don't get softer as your hips drive into her stomach, pinning her between the two of you.

"Is she always this much of a bratty tease? Or is that just how she gets when she gets all worked up over your perfect cock. I know she's aching to feel it stretch out that tight little cunt of hers-

"It's never been all that clear," you answer, before Tzuyu can start to say anything further. A moment of composure, in case Sana wants you to step in.

Except that, she doesn't exactly interrupt the play you and Tzuyu are setting up: "So," Tzuyu remarks instead. "Just for me then."

"It's possible."

The room suddenly feels very full, very small.

"Right. Okay. Well then," you say - watching carefully, when Tzuyu gives you an appraising glance. Sana squirms again beneath the pressure of all these fingers printing over her sensitive skin - she'd love to fuck this. Or be fucked.

"That means you'll have to take good care of your needy little princess, won't you daddy?"

It's surprisingly fitting.

-

Though it hasn’t been that long, all things considered.

Not since Sana effortlessly waltzed her way into your life. And slightly less-than-that, the time it took her thereafter to find herself bouncing in your lap and tugging at your hair while you struggled for breath between her tits. This perfect storm, caught somewhere between laughing and choking and definitely, definitely falling.

It's been a year, maybe. If that. But that's plenty to know.

Know every tilt of her mouth, every sly grin. The different moans that shake loose from the curve of her lips.

Know what it means when Sana's palms hit the tiles of the shower wall, fingers splaying as she goes quiet and submissive, letting out the barest noise of frustration as Tzuyu spreads her tongue over the pucker of her ass - know that the knuckle you curl up in her cunt has her that much closer to unraveling in a stream of whimpers, needy fucking pants and a hoarse sound of gratitude.

Ostensibly for getting her so perfectly, perfectly raw.

"Fuck, yes, that," Sana barely manages, between the messy swipe Tzuyu's tongue makes over her hole. Just this thorough lick, drawing tight, swirling circles around her, lapping at the wetness before making a hot and steady pass over the sensitive stretch of skin, drenching it in spit until Sana's scrambling against the hard surface.

She's not close to going quiet: her cheeks look rounder, like she can hardly keep her noises under control as Tzuyu eases a single fingertip inside the tense muscle of her rim and uses the stretch and warmth of the water raining down her spine, to slip in deeper. Sana's sighing as Tzuyu eats her like an act, an invitation.

You push your fingers deep, deeper, slick, pulling, rubbing, coaxing Sana's mouth apart even as your lips press wet into her cheek. She groans louder, needier, with your hand flexing up a three-finger graze over that bundle of nerves. The kind that makes her back fucking arch.

"You," Sana sputters open like a struck match, burning bright in the steam-cloaked shower, "you, you, you," and it’s not really clear who she’s cursing, "going to - you're going to - you're going to make me-"

"Oh no," Tzuyu sings, starting to straighten herself out - until she’s reminding Sana that she’s the smallest of the three of you and in a possible sort of danger.

She reaches an open palm into the stream of water and splashes off the slick running down her mouth, her chin, her neck - gaze anchored to Sana's trembling figure. It's just one, heavy exhale into the hot, hazy air: "You've got it all wrong.”

Sana twists her head around, face still so wildly attractive amidst the look of worry and that flush of pink taking over from the bottom half. The tiny, imperceptible dip in her brows.

But before she can give voice to a complaint, Tzuyu has her spun by a rough grip around her waist, pinning her back to the tile - water beating down the rise of her breasts and the tops of her shoulders.

"If you're going to cum baby, it'll be all over his thick cock, getting your whole cunt so stretched and stuffed full it'll feel like he's cumming up inside your guts."

You and Sana share this wistful groan of a sigh after Tzuyu wraps her long fingers around your cock, aims you true, and brings you close. Closer. Until you can feel Sana's pulse at her cunt, lips wet and slippery and dripping, just a few inches from where the tip of your cockhead nudges the insides of her thighs. Sana's stomach is seizing in a fluttering of heat and -

"Do you like hearing her beg? That's good. Because this girl's gonna do everything she can to make sure you fuck her raw before you even let her come," Tzuyu's voice lowers, a deep register. "How long can you last, Sana?"

Sana gives you this look, all anticipation and pleasure, holding it for longer than is strictly necessary - and then, her pert little mouth falls open, keening, hissing out a shallow, almost painful, "fuck" the moment you bend at the knees and slip inside.

The feeling that washes over you is a beautiful elixir of relief, an indomitable kind of want, tinged with something heavier, and with just the tiniest hint of longing in the sense that this is not enough, nowhere near enough. It never is.

"God, Sana," is all you manage. All you want to.

Sana doesn't wait around any longer before giving you an impatient shimmy of her hips, fucking herself further down the length of your cock, like she wants to choke on it. And the feeling of it, well, she does it well - the tight warmth swallowing you to the base, her cunt squeezing you all at once, slick and smothering. Fuck, it's all in her eyes. How badly she wants to be held down, split apart. How tightly your fist finds itself locked around Sana's long, wet strands of golden hair as Tzuyu closes any semblance of distance - brushing her lips over where she can tease Sana's open and slack mouth, licking down inside, panting.

"Baby, you are so close, I can feel you trembling," Tzuyu teases, running her fingers up Sana's stomach, cupping steady the breast she can fit in her palm. She drops another messy kiss on Sana’s throat and hums: "Go ahead, cum. I'm sure he doesn't mind.” 

"You're such a prissy fucking- nnh-" Sana's words skirt right over Tzuyu's fingertips before they're shoved roughly across the swell of her lower lip and into the back of her mouth. If Tzuyu's intent was to prove a point, she's about as successful as can be - Sana can only gag quietly around her digits, working her jaw over them.

"Sana, shh-shh-shh, baby, don’t fight it; just cum around around his cock, don't put yourself in a corner and try to play games - he'll fuck you right, until you scream, I promise, and-"

It hardly ever takes much. That's something you've come to appreciate: Sana can't ever help it. With the way it actually feels, you pressing right up against where the rest of her cinches so impossibly tight. She was practically teetering on the edge, on the very cliff and within reach of falling right off of it the instant you fit the very hilt of your cock up the molten-hot stretch of her perfect cunt, sliding, fucking into her while water sprays all over her quivering body, so soft beneath the wash of rain.

One of Sana’s long legs gets wrapped around your waist and you can feel her nails start to dig through the muscles in your shoulders.

Tzuyu smirks right into Sana's temple, biting at the slickness of her skin, running the curve of her thumb around the length of Sana's jugular, and sucking with her teeth when Sana cries out. "How does our girl feel wrapped around you? Wet, huh? Needy?"

"Unbelievable," you answer honestly - and maybe that's the point; Sana's pussy is incredible. Hot and silky and absolutely unreal. There’s no question, whether she's a work of art, or if she'll fuck you up, but you love that part.

“Ruin her for me, won’t you?” Tzuyu prompts, with that twinkle of mischief you're rapidly becoming accustomed to. "She looks even prettier when she's fucked out. I know you know that."

She does, she does, she does.

Your hips snap, up, fuck in - Sana mewling around the shape of Tzuyu's first two fingers - then back, drawing the motion slow, long, full - until you’re crashing forward and sinking up into that warmth you know is spreading across every inch of Sana’s body, swallowing her up inside-out as her legs start to shake and give and her tongue laps recklessly along the outline of Tzuyu's knuckles. 

Sana knows she likes to play at coy and control, but this is never part of the act - your cock fucking her submissive pussy apart - it’s hard to argue she doesn’t love how you can come to own her: hot and fast and filthy, leaving her breathless and desperate, every thrust into her tight cunt punctuated with some pretty whimper. And here, she just… there isn't the luxury, there's nowhere to hide.

Nowhere to run or shy or look away.

Tzuyu curses when finally Sana bites down, part of a long sequence of reflexes that bloom from the depth you fuck up into her cunt. And with her voice back in her throat (Tzuyu's fingers shaking out the sharp pain) she fucking whines into it, unable to stop the steady line of nonsense tumbling past her lips, incoherent except for the single-minded purpose of her own release.

"Fuck, daddy, fuck," Sana repeats in the same way she always does, getting fucked, the letters collapsing into each other. "I'm cumming, fuck, fuck, so fucking wet. God, you're, fuck, right there, oh - I'm cumming, daddy, I’m fucking cumming," is the all further she gets, muddied with the sound of your slicked-up thighs moving in quick rhythm with the beat of your heart, slapping loudly against her skin - loud enough so that the neighbors can probably listen in through paper thin walls.

Then she goes silent, face painted with it all. She isn't crying, the tears won't come, but she's gone this quiet sort of wide-eyed that matches the way she's mouthing, cumming, over and over, you’re pulling me a-fucking-part.

And you believe her. You have to.

Just look at the way her legs are doing all the wrong things. Thighs tensing taut, muscles giving out - she’s slipping down the tiles, back bending and flexing and going limp all at once. Tzuyu's already moving, scooping her up like it's something rehearsed, before you even have to ask, "Tzu, help me hold her up, won't you?"

“Tzu, huh?”

It's not much, but it is worth noting: how Tzuyu, her fingers curling and interlacing between Sana's, holds the girl like she's breakable. Tenderly, cradling Sana's small body against her chest.

"Do you slip into pet names and all that with every girl Sana brings around? Or am I," and when Tzuyu tilts her head, her smile has this very palpable bite, "the exception?"

"Every pretty girl thinks they're special, sweetheart."

Tzuyu just glimpses one downward look into Sana, shivering, riding her orgasm down into nothing, and drops a kiss into her hair. A gentle chuckle: "And when have I ever given you a reason to doubt it?"

"Shameless," is all Sana offers up, beyond exhausted, trying and failing to take more than a passing, somewhat disgruntled interest in the scene unfolding around her, while she clings to the strength Tzuyu and the tile and your hands are putting into her body.

Meanwhile Tzuyu, this devil of a daydream - this tall, skinny thing of long hair and smirking lips and cheekbones as sharp as her wit, has her gaze locked. Still curious, and all but relentless - there's more she's dying to say. It seems almost impracticable that such a lovely woman would really be this way, weapons concealed under all that good-girl charm. And in its most uncomplicated form, that's what it is: an open invitation.

You've only managed the vaguest outlines, after all. "Do you mind?" you ask again.

The next movements feel more elegant than they probably are. Cradling Sana's limp body between you, finding a steady hold.

There’s a slight shuffle to discover a proper balance, a hand slapping the glass of the shower door, and yeah, Sana's fucked out. Slurring out sounds that might resemble the shape of words if she had the presence of mind. The rest are whines and whimpers, obscene in all ways.

“Baby,” Tzuyu tells Sana in a growling kiss to the back of her ear. "Keep your fucking legs up."

(That’s a cue if you were looking for one, to get your arms fastened around Sana's small waist as she leans heavy into your chest.)

"More," The girl in your arms starts to complain, when you truly start fucking her.

"Hurt - hnn, please, more - fuck - harder," and all those sharp edges, that arrogance and conceit, it's all gone. Her pupils are blown out, an animal-like-desire set in its place - these are your invitations to wreck her, you realize, pushing so deep into her well-fucked cunt that she arches, and that her head knocks against Tzuyu's, that the small room is entirely empty save for these movements under the metal cloud of shower water, falling like rain.

This is all there is. 

Tzuyu, smirking like she herself might get off on this. 

Sana, begging.

And when Tzuyu buries a hot smile at her throat, nibbling at the skin - urging her, urging you, this sharp, "now give her the fucking dicking of a lifetime, will you?"

When Sana’s reduced down to her pleas of, please, harder daddy, and deeper, god, I can feel you so deep -

Well,

You’re all instinct. You sink your fingers into the firm skin of her ass, grab at the soft, slippery flesh around her hips. You sink your cock into her hole again and again.

The stretch is obvious and absolutely devastating, making Sana cry out and muffle her face in your shoulder. She makes a weak sort of sound around your neck - it could be anything, maybe please don't stop, or maybe please do - it doesn't matter.

"You look incredible like this baby, does he fuck you well?" Tzuyu croons, curling around her so her head rests on her shoulder - eyes watching Sana, meeting yours. "Oh, come on, aren't you always telling me about how it makes you feel - all this, full and hot and better than anyone? Now's your chance, no hiding from him. Or me."

"It's so, god it's - I -"

"Come on," Tzuyu squeezes out one long, eager moan with her hand dropped onto Sana's breasts, pulling and kneading like she owns it. "Tell him to cum in you baby, like the good fucktoy you are, let him cum up into that creaming pussy until you’re all sticky and leaking cum all over, just the biggest fucking mess."

There is measurable irony, you suppose, in how Sana brings these friends of hers back with the clear expectation to be fucked and torn apart, how they each want the same, all wanting to get her unraveling and her knees buckling. Only Tzuyu manages, more efficiently than anyone you've ever seen, to leave her all wanton and squirming against your hard, relentless thrusts into her needy cunt.

It's easy: this isn't difficult, there is nothing hard about falling for each and every promise her face has to offer - knowing her body's secrets and drawing the story out, line by line, so you can fall in love with it over and over, all while Sana starts to go helpless at the shape of your cock filling up that tiny, wanting cunt.

So you cum. Inside her. In one final push, filling her completely.

Sana opens her mouth like she's trying to say something - say yes - say daddy, say fuck yes daddy.

"That's it," Tzuyu strokes down Sana's belly. "I knew it - now keep your pretty thighs shut. Can't let even a drop out, understand?"

"Yes, fuck. It's - fuck - good, he feels," Sana finally sobs, chest heaving as you grind the last little bits of cum deep, so far and hot as it can get. All the way in. Where it's hot and wet and throbbing and slick.

Where it should stay, because you never pull out. You savor the last bit of your pulse, sporadic and lethargic. Because in truth - your mind is made and your mouth won't say it because you don’t need to.

Tzuyu's wringing the water out of Sana's hair, picking the strands into careful folds. "Alright then," and her grin is positively lecherous.

There's a bench in the corner of the shower where you eventually arrive, panting now that you realize it, and Sana makes herself at home right in your lap, face buried in your shoulder. Grinding her hips down in this almost imperceptible circle, circling back and feeling. Holding you inside and murmuring into your collarbone.

(Fucked, Sana is simply and unfairly beautiful.)

It’s all in that exhale of a moment, when Tzuyu catches water in cupped palms from the shower-head, wiping away what stray tracks of soapiness left on Sana's shoulder-blades and breasts and thighs. Her hands all up and down her body, sudsing the crease between leg and torso, down lower still, around her sensitive pussy and her folds.

You wonder if she can hear you swallow.

"Maybe we should actually wash up before we go again?"

-

The first thing Sana's free hand goes for when she stumbles through the threshold of your bedroom is a hair band you didn’t know she was storing in the top drawer of your dresser. She fidgets around keeping her towel wrapped tightly around her chest as though modesty were an option at this point.

"What?" she asks, fixing you with a slightly-irritated, slightly-teasing smirk. "You look like you have something you want to say."

"Nothing." You laugh out loud. "It's nothing. I'm just waiting."

She makes this face at you, guilty - so sorry about the contraband - as she twists her wrists and pulls the hair band round her middle-finger, wrapping her palms around her knot of wet blonde and bundling it into a half-assembled ponytail. It leaves the length of her nape exposed and vulnerable, neck flushed pink-from-showering in all the most wonderful of places.

"Waiting," is what she hones in on.

Tzuyu is pulling out of the bathroom. Her hands, washed clean and dried off with a fluffy, off-white towel. When she sets it down, she steps back, leaning on the frame. "He's waiting, for what I wonder?"

She's made of all things smooth-and-sharply-cut. Even from here, even through the sleep-haze fog, the silhouette of her nude figure gives itself to a small sense of anticipation. The long and smooth sweep of her chest, from breast, up and out, and then tapering along down to where her hips flare. She takes a step and then another and lets her fingers ride her side, from the very top of the shallow indentation in the dip of her waist, up. Then the tautness of her abdomen and further still, running slow and over the breast, coming to cup its full weight, pushing the bottom of the curve outwards.

"Waiting to," and she wets her lips in something akin to expectation. "Pound me into the fucking bed?"

You’re smiling when you explain, "I was going to say a request…"

Tzuyu’s dimples deepen. "You mean, like, we can tell you what to do?”

You sit on the bed, which is actually more of a proposition than you realize. "I suppose."

"Sana, sweetie, is there something I should be doing for him," Tzuyu looks up, wearing that trademark kind of playful expression that is definitely deliberate and not at all a tell. "Or maybe I've got this all wrong and you know exactly what you want."

"Well," you manage in reply, sounding surprisingly sane. "Don't both start coming forward with any ideas you have no intention of following through."

"And what if I have no ideas at all? What would you tell me then," is the challenge you find hanging around the slender outline of Tzuyu's wrists, and then at the back of her fingers, as she cards her hands through her hair and pulls it prettily over rise-and-falls of her collarbones, until it's barely curtaining her breasts. 

(Barely.)

She crosses over to the bed - to you and Sana - and without much other movement than that, finds a knee on either side of you to let a lone fingertip skirt the tops of your hips. Flirting with the towel around your waist.

"For the record," Tzuyu says, flicking a glance at Sana and leaning down into your jawline. The palm she slides over your thigh is so warm, so promising of its heat and pressure you'd swear you can almost taste the touch of her. "I never, ever go back on my word."

"Try me," you tell her.

"I do have some, ideas." Every time her fingernail ends up between her teeth, it’s another drop in a well that runs god knows how deep. "Though very few of them involve this towel."

“And about the ones that do?”

"Well," Tzuyu starts to purr - reaching a hand down and spreading the flat of her palm on your chest, "I figured if I ever wanted something to bite down on, well, you know."

It's just a subtle little rock - and the perfect view: she starts like this, her hair all tucked behind one shoulder, the arch of her back lifting. Slow at first, Tzuyu only pausing after every other short breath to lick and kiss your lips with hers, and the edges of her teeth, all soft and insistent. You are sure - that with a subtle twitch, a minor jerk of the knee or hip - she is almost right over the perfect place, and when her hips grind in these micro-friction little motions that have her sighing and pushing herself flush, it's clear that all she's looking to do is rub her cunt down all over the erection you've been holding in since the last time your towel was hanging somewhere above your waist.

"Hold, please," Sana interrupts, when she leans over and plucks something out of the messy contents of the nightstand - a few hair clips, and, more importantly, a condom. She swears aloud when the package tears the wrong way, but she's quick to apply a lip balm-slick finger-tip on the inside of the ring, and hands the thing to Tzuyu by way of a passing roll, "so, I assume you've got this under control."

"Give me that."

"Mm. Have at it."

There is an intrusive thought that finds its place, wedged somewhere at the base of your skull when Tzuyu starts the careful act of lowering herself down your shaft - like this, it has an inevitability - a forward momentum, the familiar sense of excitement building a force in your heartstrings. Sana must have a similar sensation, as she scoots her ass and slides one hand over the same place you feel that force thrumming, her palm reaching right for Tzuyu's ass, while Tzuyu hisses out a tiny sound at the added stretch.

"Careful," Sana says, fingers drawn back from the cleft of Tzuyu's beautiful ass with a string of slick that's unmistakably arousal. "You try going back after having his cock. And trust me, there's nothing to go back to. Like, ever."

"That must be why you're always like this," is Tzuyu's cock-sure comeback, finding herself flush with your hips.

You're biting down. You're holding back. You're probably digging nails into your palms hard enough to break skin, because you could be double, triple wrapped, latex running up your length like a goddamn balloon and you'd still feel the hot, melting perfection of Tzuyu's pussy swallowing your cock in one, slick, seamless motion. There isn't any sound either more pleasing than that hitch-groan-slip you hear as Sana helps guide Tzuyu's hips back, forth, back again and to a steady beginning of this proper pace: smooth and full.

You both need a second, because, fuck - and she's biting into a grin. Eyes already half lidded as the speed builds. As Tzuyu starts really enjoying the drag of it, the feeling. The god-damn-fucking-stretch.

"Oh? Like what?" Sana asks, smirk filling out her lips to bridge the silence you're both groaning into. "Like what?"

"Greedy," Tzuyu says. The only part that really needs to get filled in. "Because he fucks the self-control right out of you."

Now Sana lets that settle, and it's not like she doesn't know. Or doesn't understand. And still, "Mm. That does sound like me, doesn't it, daddy?"

(Yeah, well- you- )

Tzuyu watches you watch what happens next: Sana peeling out the cotton slip of her bath towel - sizing up just how good Sana looks. Fuck-me-raw.

And then she laughs, deep and gorgeous. "Didn't he just do a number on you - hn, god. Can you hear him all up inside me? Fucking, splitting me apart."

It's true.

All of it.

The way Tzuyu rides your cock. Faster, faster, rolling her body and drawing her hands together behind the length of her hair and neck until the point of her chin is upturned, showing off the hollow of her throat. A tension that glitters with sweat.

The tightening in the space between the bottom of her ass and your cock - all of it is heaven. This slow-and-rough, rough-and-fast. Tzuyu picks the tempo of it to fuck out a particular pleasure that has you catching her and pulling her closer to your body, holding her through the upward grind, where your cock meets the heat of her cunt - pressing her closer.

That's it.

Possessive. That's what both girls have the good grace to read.

Sana's hands come up Tzuyu's ribs, fingertips skirting the muscle-taut-surface of her stomach, the bumps and grooves of her ribs, and up further still, riding the path of her breasts as they're bobbing-jostled and going full-on heavy - her thumbs go at her nipples. Rolling around the hardened tips - the faintest tug at them, enough to start to pull - then just teasing them between thumb and forefinger and loving the sight of you wincing. Loving that you love that.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Sana laughs.

"It's a real show," you bite the compliment out. The very least you can get to.

(You'll be fucked if you can hide how much you want to stay buried in this girl and cum a fucking waterfall between those perfect, creamy thighs. Oh, she knows. The dirty little smile, the filthy laugh, you're holding tight - even if the act is useless.)

"Like how she clamps down," she hums. "That's the part I've always loved, you know. She just does everything so slow, so fucking good, so... deliberate."

There's a fist in Tzuyu's hair and no trace of sympathy or self restraint in her friend when Sana tells her, "Baby, ride him slow for me, can you do that?"

When Tzuyu sucks a hiss through her teeth, mouth caught around the sharp intake, Sana just licks a slow line along the curve of her lower lip - as though saying, baby, like the slut you are, remember who asked nicely? 

And it turns out: slow is worse. You can feel every tiny tremor of friction, every little shift of Tzuyu's cunt squeezing you. Clinging tightly. Your fingers wrap around her rib cage and hold her right as her ass hits your lap, while her head rolls back into her own hair. It is enough, finally, to draw an out-of-breath little pant out of her, making a beautiful blush crawl and spread across her cheeks - there.

(Oh, fuck, your brain echoes. So, you want slow, that's what the noise from your throat says as she eases back, rising up. So slow, you-can-feel-all-of-me. She makes the effort so flawlessly, it's fucking you both over, because she's looking at Sana with this flutter-beat look, eyes wide, wet and round and pleading.)

It gets that much worse the minute Sana pushes her down by the shoulders. Giving her some resistance. Showing you both she can take you inch by slow goddamned inch.

"Harder. Deeper, sweetie."

Tzuyu does everything Sana says she'll do, loving her fingers in her hair, pulling tight. Control given as easily as that. Because she looks just how she feels: utterly surrendered. A helpless kind of want, like there's something broken in her chest when the head of your cock pushes her deep, deep. To the point she feels something more than an ache.

"Want it," Tzuyu whispers out against Sana's smile. "From the back, like you promised," she says, and takes the shudder out of your breathing.

Sana cups her jaw, laughing. She puts one arm around Tzuyu's throat and bites at her chin, at her ear. "I bet he'd do just about anything to give you what you want, baby."

Tzuyu’s hips snap down onto yours again. Melting your cock in this thick, molten heat.

And again, faster. Needier.

The kind of movements across your lap that make everything louder - a beautiful chorus of small-sounds. Slaps and squelching. Wet and gasping and begging and skin-on-skin. You'd never, ever considered the act a competition before, not with Sana. But when Tzuyu seems to be seeing who can pull the most erotic of noises out from underneath your ribcage - or the highest pitched sigh - the wetter and louder it all gets -

"Sana."

"Tzu."

Tzuyu rides the pressure and finds her voice, head thrown back, jaw slack. "Sana - tell him to, I'm gonna, soon. Tell him what to do."

"Beg for him," and Sana gives her the fakest-of-all-pouts when she slips her hand along Tzuyu's inner thigh, nearing her where the two of you meet, then slowing her pace, bringing you both to an immediate stand-still, while her fingertips continue, ghosting across the shape of your stomach. "He doesn't need anything less than the truth."

Tzuyu's face. It's the most gorgeous thing you've seen. Her hips are winding slow against you when you hit a spot you're not entirely sure either of you can recreate at your own whim: deep inside. Her eyes as wide as they can be. All of her sharp edges now just these subtle things - the very shape of the shadow beneath her clavicle, the tensing of her thighs at your sides, the gentle lines that curl up from the wide bottoms of her hips when your fingers thread up her belly, palm open flat.

"I want," is where Tzuyu starts, not hiding it any part. "I want you to bend me over the bed." 

And in a breathless voice: 

"Please, please let me have what I want. Just bend me over the bed, shove my legs apart and take me. Hold me down. Fuck me and fill me and don't let me move or say a thing. Until we're both fucking finished."

You swallow. Hard.

Because here's what Sana's brought you: this tall brunette with an impossibly beautiful ass and thighs to die for, a sin-full mouth. The curves in her waist and back and tits a distraction, that you might try to map out until you're so lost you forget how to leave, how to ever take your cock out of this tight cunt.

"Is that a thing you can do?" Tzuyu practically purrs in one long tone, pushing herself up your waist, until your cock falls out and hangs there. Until you can only see all of this clear, gorgeous skin in front of you and hear her pretty little moan. "God, please, daddy, I’m begging you."

(She says this last part in a way that lets you know this isn't something either of you will get over easily, the kind of pleasure, the feeling and the flash. She's unreadable - almost, not quite- just too honest, there's nothing else for you to believe. Maybe that's where the shiver comes from, or your palms itching, or the sounds of your bedding ruffling as you spin her onto her back, her tummy - pull up on her hips until they're sky high and you can palm her breasts, let her press her knees up and apart on the duvet. Until you get that first look down the column of her spine and the sudden, stunning shape of her ass in a view you never want to say goodbye to.)

Tzuyu slides her hands across your sheets, all this stretch. A flex of muscle. When she opens her hips and you push two fingers deep, inside, easy - then back out -

"How much of that," Tzuyu interrupts, blushing furiously, "do I have left to beg with? Please."

- because she's been soaked and aching all day just thinking about it. Just begging for a good fucking - or so she told Sana, who now giggles and leaves small kisses up the ridge of her spine, crawls alongside the dip-line of the mattress, and after curling her fingers around the column of Tzuyu's throat - smooths a single fingernail up and down and presses, tracing, the groove of her jaw as you nudge your cock against her.

It’s not on purpose, this needlessly drawn-out moment - simple brush of latex against her slick, dripping folds, the tightening in her core and how it matches the tension in Sana's wrist and the coarseness of the bed-linens and the hardness of you - but everything eventually folds, into her.

And you're not helping, the way you're fastened to the narrow point of her waist like it's a handle. Your thumbs riding the arch of her hips, taking every opportunity to sink your fingers hard into the flesh, grip tighter and push, pulling Tzuyu, if only to really work that friction between your hips.

"Fuck, it's all in. Finally." Sana gasps like she's the one being bent, arched, fucked from behind, then lays herself down against the length of Tzuyu's shoulder, chin bumping her cheek. Watching Tzuyu. Taking it all in.

You have a hard time making it out, but Tzuyu starts this half-whimpered litany about how she needs to be fucked (that is, roughly - deep and long, or maybe rough and short and deep, or whatever, as long as it makes her lose composure), followed with some shoddy mix of cursing and your name and Sana's - the things all three of you might consider for another chance meeting.

And as you're following up the suggestion with a low groan, that's exactly how you notice that grind in her hips - a jerk back, a twist, bucking against you. She feels so, so incredibly tight when she writhes onto you, squeezes. Like she wants to tear her heart out her chest, she's so overwhelmed. So thoroughly and totally taken by this fuck. By you. "Harder," is all she says.

This one line does it, then two more. All in-and-out thrusts from behind, fuller the second time, then the third.

Only when you find Tzuyu peering back over her shoulder with a pair of eyes that say, please, pretty-please, all liquid and warm and wanting. "Fucking ruin that cunt, I want - god. Do you have the slightest idea how much," and that is where the words disappear into a slow and sticky whine.

"Yeah baby," Sana whispers.

She knows what it is. Tzuyu wants so much more, so you give it. Give her the just-this-side-of-ruthless fucking and the slow-pace grind you know can push her right over the edge. Give her more, all of you, and get her hands twisting in the pillow and grabbing fistfuls of sheets, burying her face into the space above her wrists and nearly choking on her hair with how she moans and yelps - loud.

Her whole body jolts forward the next time. The arch to her back deepening. Body drawing in on a flawless line.

Tzuyu does cum. Eventually.

She keens and rolls and begs you not to pull out or slow, just stay put and fill her with your cum - keep fucking going, please. The only thing keeping her from landing flat on your mattress as she practically unravels around your cock are fingers you have under her hips, tightening. Bruising.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me, you’re,” you’re railing out of her lungs, where the words hang on sex-stale air.

First with Sana whispering promises into her ears and letting Tzuyu swallow, and suck around the length of her index, then two, fingers. Then licking a kiss into her mouth, tongue tangling up hers and finishing up the act with, "cum for us, Tzu, like the sweet girl you are - you take him so well."

Then, with your hand held over her ass-

(She could cry from it. From how everything pulls you in, like a riptide, and, really, with no regard for things like safety or drowning.)

-the utterance off her lips has your stomach twisting into knots:

"Keep," you hear her ask Sana. Barely getting the words out as you ride, fast. "Please, keep, telling him that I - god."

It gets worse before it gets better.

"I can't - I need; fuck, I can’t, with the rubber, I want him," and Sana smirks like she knew all along. "Sana, please-"

"You want the real thing, sweetie. Isn't that right, baby? Hm. Of course it's okay," and Sana soothes a hand through her friend's fringe, pushes it away from her eyes and over her ears, making something that sounds like an adoring laugh slip out. "You want him to fuck his cum so deep in that pussy, I know you do, don't worry."

When you slow down the grinding, wipe the sweat from your face, Sana gets your attention and nods to the very place your cock is disappearing between the cheeks of Tzuyu's ass, "go ahead. If you want the mess-up, sweetie - let's make sure that's exactly what he'll give you."

Who exactly wants what most is hard to say. Sana's the one pulling off the condom, the rubber stretching to an obscene limit that has you fearing for your life should it snap back before it breaks. Tzuyu is already a sort of gaping mess with it all, her own fingers snuck under to rub harsh circles in the absence of cock and something firm and heavy to fill her. To feel full.

And there's you, asking, or maybe, double-checking: "Tzuyu, you're saying you want me to-"

"She doesn't care," is what you're interrupted with, courtesy of Sana. "Fuck a baby into her cunt, that's what she wants."

(Like you wouldn't fucking love it too. Or have the frame of mind to even begin to unpack all of that.)

It’s a lot, admittedly.

And not just because Tzuyu has never looked better: on all fours, pressed, and presented. Legs all the way apart and ass and thighs in your grip, with that smile all pointedly certain and wild-eyed, like, she knows, that you know exactly what to give her - what she really wants - filling her so full and marking your claim by fucking your cum right to her very core.

Tzuyu drags her head back, so she can peek over her shoulder and meet your eyes.

She does things. Like sighing this small sound and laughing and - she has this thing for noises, for things breaking under the strain, where she won't say a word, except to murmur some part of your name into your jawline, a raggedness in her breathing. Sheer hunger.

"I want - want you to, fuck me."

You will. Or you are. Or you're going to, only - Sana's lips are fast around your cock, fingers fluttering delicately between your thighs and drawing these stuttering sounds in your breath, "I will. I will. I'm - I will."

Sana just hums, copper hair bobbing in place. Her hot mouth and wet fingers pulling and sliding and pulling and sliding. Tongue moving in all the ways she knows you like.

Which, here’s a fact: Sana can be mean. No one would believe it.

But sometimes this is the price of admission. You have to be honest about what it takes, how, exactly, you intend to break this beautiful brunette whose ass is swaying back and forth in this mesmerizing little waggle of the hips. It's hard not to marvel, not to ask questions and not wonder at what a pair of friends so similar and so opposite do to each other and other people and to themselves in those small, private hours and space no one else shares, that has you panting and burning and her clasping the hollow of your neck and asking with her body if this is okay, because sometimes, in moments of absolute need, just a glance can mean your end.

So, there's no tease; Sana is well aware of what it feels like when you're throbbing and ready to burst - she's working you up and over and right to that point of no return-

"Can I? Fucking-"

"Fine," she replies, maybe having now considered every other way you might spill a hot load out and make a mess of the sheets. "Have at her," and a flick of tongue catches around the tip of your cock - the final tease, the best punishment.

And the promise of how Tzuyu makes that perfect whimpering cry. Something entirely wounded. Because as soon as it begins - your cock in the shallow depth of her creaming cunt - you're both made aware how she's wetter than she was an hour ago and clenching at nothing, hands balling themselves in frustration, palms bunched white-knuckled up in fists. She needs something, anything. Something for her to squeeze against. For her to bear down on and bounce her cunt off-

The sound all three of you make when you grit your teeth and bury yourself deep into her pussy is a guttural, aching thing, with you biting a lip and gasping. Tzuyu half-growling-half-sobbing into the sheets.

It doesn't matter that she lets Sana cover her open and slack mouth in an attempt to quiet it.

It doesn't matter because in a blink, the exact point in which you sink completely inside - where it's the first, the best, feeling of Tzuyu’s hot pussy taking your cock.

(Mind-numbing, is the word that doesn't come to you.)

Under you, Tzuyu is writhing and hot and tight into the mattress - and so desperate.

"Please," is about all that gets away from her. Which is just too cute to ignore: she's been dying to be fucked, ever since stepped into your foyer and was introduced by the softest, most deliberate of gestures that wound up being all-too intimate. "Please- I need - harder, fucking-"

Sana takes to touching you, her own little form of enjoyment that ends with her fingertips mapping the shape of your jaw. Pupils blown, "Isn't she amazing?" Sana laughs into your neck.

"Fucking," is what your first real stroke back into Tzuyu pulls out,  “unreal."

The friction has you both grinding your bodies together at the base, and she arches, this throaty moan, before looking back up at you and letting her mouth fall open - this wordless sentence of plea, over and over again. She's shaking. Body-full. It's almost something painful to see, that she's so undone - and what if you were the only person who'd ever fucked her like this: into ruin.

Tzuyu clenches around the next thrust - begging, so-sore-and-begging to cum.

The demand is practically written in her muscles, and all you want is for her to let go for the second, third, last time - until she loses track of the count. To get there before you have the time to register that she is actually doing it. She's already half-way gone and at your mercy - her only choices now, being: cum, or let you chase the orgasm you're currently rubbing all around the curve of her cunt.

Sana swallows her scream when the first little cry comes, that you've edged out of her. And it gets worse and better the second time her ass meets your thighs, where she's making a real mess on your hips and all but yelling out her orgasm in her state of such incoherent stutter and disarray. The arch to her back is this thing out of your best imagination, which has you - pounding out all her noises - gripping and curving over the plane of her stomach. Until Tzuyu's beginning to make these different cries, somewhere new, somewhere you're finding a whole lot deeper.

"Hold her ass up and fuck her 'til she's full of cum," is the advice you get from Sana in the end, as you fuck her and fuck her through the tumultuous rise and fall of orgasm after orgasm, "oh baby, does it hurt so good? Do you feel that heat spreading down your thighs and getting you all slick? You always knew the best toys are the ones that get bred, sweetheart."

And from her, barely, "fuck, yes."

That's what does it: the desperation just that tangible in all your voices.

Sana manages to get her lips on yours. A kiss that could knock the wind out of your sails under normal circumstances, one that curls a fist and tugs around a familiar part of you. But Tzuyu's eyes roll and drop low, fluttering shut, while your hips crash in quickening succession:

"Fuck-you're so-perfect, cum in me again, daddy - make me," and, "please, so fucking full, just give me more. Want more of you, until it's-"

Tzuyu gets you. Just there. Just the way you needed it. Just like that.

There's something addictive in how her muscles clench and grab around the head of your cock - drawing everything you'd been holding back to a painful front, and - Sana's taste in your mouth still so sweet, mixed with salt and sweat, while you fuck and pound, with absolutely zero respite. Cum buried deeper and deeper until it's spilling and Tzuyu whines for the filthy feeling. Until you're fucked through, emptying every single drop into her open cunt. Until your legs feel sore, a slight shake all through the muscle and the tension in your neck and shoulders, and you're growling this thing that might be her name, and "Tzu, my god, baby, you feel, so amazing," in between thrusts.

It earns you an appreciative whimper.

Something breathy and not-at-all restrained. She doubles down on it when your cock slides out of her swollen, well-fucked cunt.

At first, she only hums a sleepy smile and turns her face in toward the touch, eyes closed and unresponsive. A long exhale. Even like this - especially, perhaps - Tzuyu is lovely.

Either out of exhaustion or overbearing satisfaction, you collapse into her - bodies folding up like that old-cliche about a stack of cards or dominoes - with your cheek to her back and your arms wrapping around her chest, tight, trying to squeeze. Like you're hugging someone from behind. Which isn't too far off. Because for the next five or ten or fifteen minutes or a half-hour, you lie there, pressing your face in against the side of her neck, smelling her hair - how sweet the strands are - then down along her shoulders, and under, listening to the soft way Tzuyu falls into her breaths. 

In, out. In, out.

Sana follows all the while with, "should we not have let her ride, first?"

To which, Tzuyu says, "fuck off."

Sana brushes it off, crawls around your shoulders and slips two, three, five kisses into your forehead. That's when you know to shuffle over, dragging and tugging limbs and muscles and bone in the same direction - careful not to let the sticky sensation linger anywhere it shouldn't. Not even for an instant.

The three of you are laying in a total fucking mess. But it's your mess, and that's beautiful in a sort of thought-provoking poetic way.

You turn your head. Tzuyu's there, still, blinking slowly.

"Hello again, hi," you say and the smile comes up all sorts of natural. "Okay?"

Her gaze shifts into something vague, so much quieter, but she nods. So it must be. Okay.

-

“Is it too early?” Tzuyu asks two weeks later, and nothing has ever, ever started like that.

She’s at your doorstep, a little too dressed up for the middle of the afternoon, hair pulled away from her face in two loose braids, bright eyes, lip-gloss that shimmers just enough. Something innocent in the whole way she looks and stands and smiles. Nothing, on the surface, that gives the truth away.

You lift an eyebrow, skeptical. Always. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Yes you were," and she dangles a set of keys.

"I'm sorry, did you steal those?"

The laughter from her chest is as surprising as it is gorgeous, rich and thick like molasses, rolling over the shape of her tongue. It hits you hard that two weeks - really, any amount of time - it’s not nearly long enough.

And before Tzuyu can admit as much out loud, Sana chirps from her spot aside the door, knee bent and grinning, "maybe I did."

"Well," you say, hands on your hips, "this is all a little..."

"Irregular, I know." Sana's giving her best impression of you: so exasperated.

"Which is, honestly," she continues to explain, pushing away from her perch and approaching in these small, gentle steps. "We need, that thing you promised you'd do," she trails a finger up the buttons of your shirt, under your jaw. You're already drowning. "Whenever" - is her very worst torture - "we called."

(Might just be a little bit of trouble, is the one honest answer, to whatever you were trying to start when you saw their faces and recognized their bodies and said: yes, come inside and meet me and fuck my brains out, all that.

What a way to begin. What a story it'll be.)

a/n: these two are fucking adorable.

[the-s1lly-corner]

AAAAA

TDAC X PUPPET!READER

Hear me out

Reader is like puppet from fnaf, their character being very similar to puppet, them having the same voice and powers? Yknow Puppet flies fast as HELL and etc, Reader most of the time stays in the music box, and just gets out when really wanted or needed, for example: when theres an IHA or when someone needs them for something.

TADC x puppet!reader !

ashamed to admit this but i have not touched fnaf outside of security breach, recently at least. the last time i was fully invested in the fnaf lore was when fnaf 4 had just dropped, so im quite literally relying off of your description like its a life line because i know how insane fnaf lore has gotten think imma answer this request then take another short break since my lower back is starting to get sore from sitting all day; gotta go stretch my legs too

CAINE:

you do have your own room, of course, but you tend to usually stay in your music box; of which you came with when you first entered the digital world... which was a little odd, but hey its not the strangest thing that anyone here has seen! i like to think that sometimes caine comes to your box at night and tries to will you out so he can get to know you more. leave it to the ai to fall for the mysterious circus member who rarely leaves their box... i think sometimes he would hum and sing along to the music your box makes

POMNI:

the first time you rush out of your music box it takes her off guard, almost making her fall off her feet when you dash right by her to do... whatever was required of you at that moment in time. if she were being honest, she didnt think you were a real person, she had always assumed that you were an npc; it wasnt unheard of that caine would have npcs stationed about for in house adventures, or to man the carnival..! though i dont think she would interact much with you, considering you rarely interact with the others; what use would it be to pester you?

JAX:

honestly before realizing you literally live and sleep and mostly exist in the music box, he probably puts stuff on top of your box... accidentally trapping you inside it. well, actually trapping wouldnt be accurate because you ended up brute forcing your way out, literally sending everything that was on top of the box flying; scaring just about everyone in the room. imagine trying to find out whos faster; you or jax.. i mean, have you seen how fast jax bolted when they found out koufmo abstracted?

RAGATHA:

always tries to ask you if you want to join in on the in house adventure, she doesnt want you to feel left out or unwelcome; even though most times you willingly back out of the activity. though, she feels relieved and even smiles when you spring out of your box to join in on the action... at least she knows you havent abstracted... brain stimulation is important, you know!

KINGER:

he finds some comfort in the music, slowly but surely as the days pass he moves his pillow fort closer and closer to your box before eventually hes right next to you. sometimes even naps, leaning against it. though he does immediately scamper off when you suddenly lunge out to race towards whoever is calling for you. at least he can count on you to have his back in moments of danger or fear!

ZOOBLE:

usually stays in their own lane, but for one reason or another they need help during an IHA, and their yelps and incoherent speech was enough to catch your attention. be it gloink or otherwise, you obliterate the problem; effectively haunting zooble for the rest of their life by your actions... but hey, it feels... nice, having someone you can rely on

GANGLE:

character who is soft spoken and shy meets character that rarely leaves their box when its not needed or necessary; how could a relationship, romantic or otherwise, be fostered in conditions such as this? oddly enough, the silence between you two brings you together, the music keeping the silence from becoming overwhelming. i like to think that sometimes gangle leaves you little notes, choosing to write rather than verbally speak... best not to ruin that special quiet the two of you have learned to share

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Rational Fear

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fear of needles, fear of getting blood drawn, fluff at the end

Request by @sylvanianlucy: could you write somethign about the reader being afraid of needles. i'm REALLY scared of them and still cry when i get shots no matter how old I am. Thank you!

Summary: you are deathly afraid of needles and you have an appointment to get your blood drawn coming up. How will you ever be okay with going?

Square Filled: grabbed by the chin for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Today is not your best day. Things started going wrong the second you woke up. You slept through your phone alarms, there was no hot water for your shower, your coffee machine exploded on you which caused you to go change, and the bus was late to pick you up. You don’t own a car since you live so close to work that you can take the bus.

All of this is the reason why you have been chewing on your nails since the moment you got onto the bus, and why your hair is a tangled mess from you pulling on it. Not to mention you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so your eyes are a bit red.

You keep your head down when you walk into the bullpen. The B Team is in the air today, so you have a day of catching up on paperwork. If you’re lucky, you don’t have to talk to anyone. Everyone is in the break room getting their daily dose of caffeine so you quickly hide at your desk and pretend to be super busy so they won’t bother you.

When you log into your computer, a calendar notification pops up on the top right of the screen. When you read it, your blood instantly turns to ice. A chill runs down your spine as fear seeps into your skin. Just breathe, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. In… Out… You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the notification so you wait until it disappears. It’s gone but the fear is still there.

There’s nothing to be scared of. No one dies from having their blood taken. A medical professional is going to be there the entire time. They know what they’re doing. They do it every day to millions of people. You’re being irrational. Then why are your palms sweaty, your heart racing, and your entire body shivering? Even the thought of being anywhere near needles makes your blood run cold. You hate needles. You hate what they look like. You hate the thought of one. You hate one making contact with your skin.

Even as a child, needles scared the shit out of you. You’d watch horror movies that involve them which would scare the shit out of you. People in those movies would always misuse them for nefarious purposes, and your little brain thought that’s what people actually did in real life. Nothing traumatic happened to you involving needles but something doesn’t have to be traumatic for you to fear it.

This is one of those times.

Emily walks in with two coffees in her hand; one for you and one for her. It doesn’t matter if you’ve made one for yourself in the break room because she always has the better kind. She sees you at your desk and hops over with a smile on her face.

“I have a present for you,” she sings. When you don’t turn to face her, her smile is lost. She sets both coffees on her desk and looks at you to see just how much of a mess you are. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” All you can do is shake your head. “Would you like to go somewhere more private?” You nod. “Come on.”

She takes your hand and notices how clammy it is. You’re nervous about something and she is going to be there for whatever it is. She takes you to an empty office and closes the door to ensure privacy. If this were anyone else, you wouldn’t think about spilling but this is Emily. You have a massive crush on her and she is your biggest supporter in everything you do.

“I have an appointment today after work,” you whisper and look down. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” she asks kindly.

“I have to get my blood drawn. I’m terrified of needles. I don’t know why I am. All I know is that I even think about them and my whole body freezes. I know it’s childish,” you sigh.

Emily gently grabs your chin and lifts it so you’re looking up at her.

“No fear is childish. If it scares you, then it’s real. It’s okay to be scared of needles. It’s not an uncommon fear.”

“But I don’t have a legitimate reason to be scared of them. I wasn’t traumatized or anything. I’m just scared of them.”

“That doesn’t matter. A fear is a fear and it’s valid because it affects you.”

“I don’t want to go to the doctor’s alone.”

“Who says you have to be alone?” she grins and sits next to you.

“You’d come with me?”

“I’d go with you to the end of the world if you asked me to. I’m going to be right there next to you,” she grabs your hand, “holding your hand.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anything for you. I mean it,” she smiles back.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[cyarikaplease]

punisher - part one

singer!joel miller x fan!reader

summary: Joel Miller is a famous singer, living the life of any typical musician in LA and you’re his number one fan. What happens when you finally cross paths?

“When the speed kicks in

I go to the store for nothing

And walk right by

The house where you lived with Snow White”

She moves through the night in a daze, aimlessly wandering around with no real mission in mind. She just moved to this side of town with the goal of getting closer to someone. That someone is Joel Miller, a singer. He sings a weird combination of folk, blues and country. Whatever it is, his music speaks to her in the most inexplicable fashion. To put it simply, she’s obsessed in an unhealthy way. She knows everything about him; where he was born, what he does in his free time, what he orders at a bar. You name it, she knows it about him. 

She’s kind of a loner, roaming the neighborhood in her free time (which was almost always). The locals grew to know her as Joel Miller’s stalker fan but they deemed that she’s harmless; just a fangirl who’s a bit too old for this sort of behavior. She’s off putting but everyone tends to feel bad for her, letting her take comfort in their shop or restaurant or bar. Sometimes she’s on drugs, sometimes she’s not.

On this particular night she’s on the prowl, looking for something specific. She’s trying to get closer to Joel Miller, as close as she could possibly be. And tonight, she’s looking for a house he used to live in. And when she finds it she’s like a kid in the candy store. Because for her, this is like being at Disneyland. She stops and stares at the white cottage in front of her, not caring about the current owners and whether or not they see her. The house looks like it belongs in a fairytale. It sits in a collection of other identical houses, all connected by a black wrought iron fence and small stone pillars. Despite all the houses looking exactly the same, she knows exactly which one used to be Joel’s. She knows all of the songs he wrote here in a drug induced haze. She feels like she can sense his presence here, even though he hasn’t lived here for a long time. She pictures him sitting on his couch with his guitar, smoking a cigarette with lines of cocaine on the table as he writes, in her opinion, masterpieces. She stands there in awe; in awe that she’s at a place where Joel Miller once was. She takes in all of the little details; the brick pathway to the front door, the stormy gray storybook tile roof, the white stucco exterior, the perfectly manicured lawn. She pictures living here with Joel, watching him as he creates his art. 

She stares off into space directly at the window until the owner opens the front door and shouts, “Get lost, you fucking creep!”

Those words don’t bother her. She’s heard it all before. She turns on her heel and walks down the street and away from the owner’s shouts, feeling satisfied with the little treasure she’s found. 

“The drug stores are open all night

The only real reason I moved to the east side

I love a good place to hide in plain sight”

It’s late at this point, well past midnight. She continues her evening stroll through the streets until she finds a drug store, open twenty four hours; another perk of moving to this neighborhood. The white fluorescent lighting and the burst of air conditioning shock her as she enters the CVS. She meanders up and down the aisles, not looking for anything in particular. She’s just not ready for her drug induced journey to end. The young cashier gives her strange looks as she paces through the aisles. But you can’t really blame him, this is an odd sight. She fantasizes further about a life with Joel, attending music events together and going on tour. All she wants to do is tell him how much his music means to her and she would be satisfied, though… or so she hopes. 

She’s walking through the first aid aisle for like the fifth time when she sees him walk in. She freezes; not knowing what to do with herself. She wants to run over to him; to tell him everything. She wants to tell him how she thinks he’s a lyrical genius and how she knows every line. But she doesn’t. She’s too starstruck. She watches as he grabs a case of beer from the cooler and takes note of the kind he buys (Miller Lite). She watches as he heads over to the cash register. The cashier doesn’t ID him, of course. He pays and disappears into the night, never noticing her the whole time. But why would he? 

She exits the store quickly, trying to catch a glimpse of what direction he was heading. She watches him stumble down the street and she starts following him, always keeping a distance. Eventually he makes a left onto a different residential street and she picks up the pace, trying to catch what house he stops at. He stops at a large house with a gate. There’s a party going on there. He buzzes the intercom and the gate opens. She’s disappointed. It’s not his house. He just left the house party to pick up more beer. Makes sense as to why it wasn’t a fancy, celebrity type of beer. It was a last minute late night decision.

“And here everyone knows you're the way to my heart

Hear so many stories of you at the bar

Most times alone, and some looking your worst

But never not sweet to the trust funds and punishers”

The gate is taking a while to close, moving ever so slowly. Without even thinking she bolts towards it, slipping inside just before the gate closes. She’s feeling exhilarated, in disbelief that she actually did this. But if she’s gonna do this, she’s gonna do it all the way. So, she makes the long trek up the pathway and to the front door. It’s unlocked of course because who would be crazy enough to sneak through the locked gate?

She enters and finds a sea of familiar faces; other musicians she recognizes and even some locals in the neighborhood. But when the locals see her a worried expression paints their faces. They know her; they know her deal. They know exactly why she’s here. None of them dare to interact with her, not in this setting. It’s different when she’s frequenting their places of business. But here, she’s an intruder; an outsider. She turns the corner and stands on the other side of the wall, looking to eavesdrop. They think she’s gone and they sigh in relief, continuing their conversation. 

“Yeah Miller was trashed last weekend… Hope the guy’s doing okay…”

“He’s been on like a six month long bender.”

“I think he’s going through something.”

She listened on the other side of the wall in pure glee at the insider information she was receiving. He’s in need , she thinks to herself, I can be there for him; I can help him. 

“Yeah he looks like shit lately… really nice guy, though. Hope he gets the help he needs.”

She decides to look for him again, weaving through clusters of drunk people, eyes constantly scanning the crowd. She spots an empty bathroom, a rare find for a house party like this, and does a line in preparation. Just in case she happens to find him. 

She steps outside into the backyard where it’s less congested. She walks along the lavish pool, pool chairs spread out all around it with people talking, drinking, and making out on them. She spots a pool house in the back of the yard with its door slightly ajar. Curious, she makes a beeline for it, hoping and praying in her head that he’s there. 

“What if I told you I feel like I know you

But we never met?”

It must be her lucky day. She pokes her head in to find none other than Joel Miller, sitting on the couch under the dim light, downing his beer. He looks at her as she enters and there’s a sense of recognition in his eyes but he doesn’t comment on it. She’s too stunned to say anything and she’s worried if she does she won’t be able to stop. Strangely enough, he’s kind to her, inviting her to sit down on the couch with him. 

“You’re welcome to take a seat with me, darlin’,” he says, slurring his words ever so slightly. 

Between the drugs and how starstruck she is, her legs can barely move. It feels like they’re thousands of pounds as she tries to make it to the couch, sitting gingerly beside him. She goes to say something, anything, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. 

As if he can read her mind he says, “We don’t have to talk much darlin’.”

She nods and looks down at her hands, fiddling with them as she sneaks small glimpses at him. She looks at the way his legs are spread apart; the way his hand is wrapped around the beer bottle, the Adam's apple bobbing in his neck as he takes a sip. God, she wants him so bad. But she doesn’t know how to act on it. She needs him to take the lead. 

“I’m gonna say something crazy,” she starts, the words just falling out of her mouth and she can’t stop, “I know we’ve never met… But I feel like I know you.”

That doesn’t seem to phase him. 

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, darlin’ but it’s nice you feel that way.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to that. She wants to prove him wrong; prove that she’s different. Without thinking she scooches closer and closer to him. He doesn’t fight it. He looks at her with the wild look she has in her eyes. Between the drugs, alcohol and the strange, inexplicable attraction they have for each other their lips just come crashing together. She pulls herself into his lap and straddles him, grinding her hips against him as they kiss each other passionately. Her hands find his hair as his hands gravitate towards his waist. She’s internally flipping the fuck out that she is kissing the Joel Miller in this random fucking pool house. She reaches between her legs and rubs the spot where his cock is pitching a tent in his pants. He moans against her lips as her hands caress him above the fabric. She moves her lips from his and finds his neck, pressing wet kisses there as he throws his head back against the couch. She moves herself off of him and kneels on the floor, unbuckling his jeans to fight the wet spot in his boxers where his pre-cum leaked out. She gropes him again, this time with less fabric in the way, driving him insane. His eyes are shut with pleasure and anticipation as she works him harder and harder. She pulls his cock from his boxers and wastes no time sucking him off, taking as much of him as she can in her mouth and down her throat. He grunts and groans as she moves one hand to his balls, cupping them lightly as she takes care of his cock. One of his hands grabs her hair, pulling her closer to his groin. Tears spring in her eyes as she takes him further, pushing into the back of her throat. He grinds his hips against her as he fucks her face. She looks up at him through her tear filled eyes as he brings himself closer to the edge with her mouth. She takes a mental picture of him above her in complete and utter pleasure, feeling proud of herself that she did this to him. She feels his cock twitch and harden in her mouth and she knows he’s at the edge. She can’t stop now no matter how uncomfortable her jaw is. She wills herself to take him a smidgen deeper as he cums in her mouth. His moans like music to her ears as she swallows every last drop of his warm release. His grip on her hair softens as he comes down from his high, panting and cursing profusely. She removes him slowly from her mouth and catches her breath. Her mind is internally screaming at her right now, torn between being proud but also freaking the fuck out. They both sat there catching their breath before either of them spoke. 

“I can't open my mouth and forget how to talk

'Cause even if I could, wouldn't know where to start

Wouldn't know when to stop”

And it’s Joel who speaks first, “That was a damn good time, darlin’.”

She’s silent and he doesn’t know what to do with that. Anything and everything she wants to say to him is on the tip of her tongue, aching to be heard. But now she’s paranoid, surely from the drugs. She’s going ballistic in her mind that she got this close to Joel; too close. She wipes her chin, gets up and bolts, leaving him there on the couch with his cock still out in the open and wet. She weaves in and out of the crowd of people again, on the edge of panic attack. Yet when she finds herself on the street she’s already thinking about where to see him again. 

[williamrikers]

okay. fuck. i need to talk about be my favorite. because jesus christ, this might be THE smartest show currently airing, which is a miracle at a time when la pluie is also airing.

so, this episode we learned more about kawi's and pisaeng's family backgrounds, and oh boy, is there a lot to unpack there... and it all works to explain why the original timeline was the way it was, why everything turned out so fucked up for both of them in the beginning.

(very rambly thoughts under the cut)

first of all, it's important to note how much of an impact kawi's father's death had. it was always clear that this was a traumatizing event in kawi's life, literally the first thing he did when he went back in time was to ditch the (supposed) girl of his dreams so he could be with his father, tearfully hug him and tell him "i love you, dad".

now, we're learning that after his father's death, kawi completely gave up on himself. he literally didn't see any reason to pursue a better life or his dreams because his father would never get to see it and be proud of him. i think this also explains to some extent why kawi has so much trouble accepting help from others: he has internalized the idea that he somehow has to do everything on his own, so his father (and others) can be proud of him. it's interesting that kawi obviously loves his father a lot but they're not really close: they don't see each other very often and in the first episode, it's established that they don't usually talk to each other about their feelings, either.

so. everything else that happened to kawi in the og timeline (knot making fun of his singing, pisaeng "stealing" his spot as pear's secret buddy, his falling out with max, kawi being too much of an introvert to make any new friends at uni) was compounded by the fact that after his father's death, kawi saw no hope for himself any more, and he ended up alone, isolated, friendless, depressed and deeply unhappy.

and now that we're learning more about pisaeng as well, it's becoming clear that something similar happened to pisaeng in the og timeline as well, only for him it was not a single event but more the reality of him being gay and having a crush on kawi (come on. nobody can tell me he DIDN'T crush on that cute awkward nerd as soon as kawi dropped his lil notebook in front of the seniors on the first day of uni), but kawi never even speaking to him and completely ignoring his existence... while pisaeng's own mother was adamant about pisaeng staying as deep in the closet as possible because it's bad for her political ambitions to have an out gay son. she basically tells him "you can feel whatever you want to feel but telling people about it is something that you should only do with my permission".

so, pisaeng has been getting told by his mother to stay in the closet since he was 15 years old (JESUS!!!), and since his crush is obviously unrequited and hopeless, why should he risk anything by being honest about it? his family is rich, pear's family too, their marriage is one of convenience for pisaeng, who gets to keep living his good life while placating his mother and spending his life with a person he's friends with, even if he can never love her romantically. from his mother's perspective, pear and pisaeng must be a good match, and pisaeng has no real reason to fight any of it. because coming out as gay would do nothing but cause him trouble and make him unhappy.

but in the new timeline, kawi is there as pisaeng's friend. and pisaeng falls for him so much deeper than he ever could have done in the og timeline. and now he HAS to figure himself out, HAS to confront his own queerness, not for kawi or even with kawi (utterly brilliant choice in the last episode to have pisaeng go on this journey alone!) but for himself, because it is becoming clear that he is living a lie and that he can't go on like this. having kawi in his life changes everything for pisaeng -- even if they weren't in a bl and were simply friends, this storyline would still be incredibly compelling because even while they're not in a relationship, kawi and pisaeng keep challenging each other, keep changing each other, keep making each other better, more honest people.

when they're in bed together and kawi asks why pisaeng likes him, he says much of the same stuff he's said before: that pisaeng is better, richer, more handsome than him, that he can't understand what pisaeng sees in him. but he says it differently this time, not with anger or defiance like in the beginning of their friendship, but so honestly, he's able to open up to pisaeng in a way he never could before just because he has had pisaeng in his life and they have had an impact on each other.

i keep coming back to this because it's something i rarely see in stories and bmf is doing it AMAZINGLY. both of the protagonists go on a journey of growth and self-improvement through knowing each other, they literally make each other better. and even though kawi is not at a point where he can see them as equals, he can honestly talk about this now, can voice his feelings of insecurity in a way he was never able to before -- and so, pisaeng can say, well, i think you're cute, does there have to be anything more to it than that? he doesn't try to talk kawi out of his self-perception, merely states his own perception of him in a way kawi can't argue away. i think this is a smart writing choice because kawi has to accept that pisaeng finds him cute, he can't say "no you don't" without accusing him of lying.

and oh, my baby kawi being so incredibly deep in denial is tugging at my heartstrings. there's a very interesting parallel happening with kawi's singing, something he was obviously dreaming of as a career when he was a child but completely gave up on -- until pisaeng and pear helped him gain confidence to put himself out there once again. i think something very similar is happening with his sexuality: he has shoved the truth of himself so far back in his own mind that it takes a long time and the knowledge that pisaeng is into him for kawi to even entertain the thought of maybe also being into him maybe. there's a certain safety in that, just like there's safety in having pear there while he reads his song lyrics to a room full of people. and that's not a bad thing! this show has consistently shown (and outright told) us that people need to help each other, that literally no one is capable of making it on their own, that everyone deserves love and support. and kawi needs a lot of love and support to be able to even let himself think of pisaeng in romantic terms. i am seriously excited to see what happens next, now that kawi has crossed the line between them, now that he got a taste of what he could have if only he let himself.

there are probably a million things i haven't said that i can't think of right now. but every single episode leaves me more impressed than the last, the story is written SO well and presented in such a smart way, later revelations recontextualizing things we already know, and with every week, everything makes more and more sense. and learning more about their families really explains a lot about all three of them (god, i haven't even mentioned pear's rich upper-class alcoholic father, a lot to unpack there as well!), and how they got where they were in the og timeline as well as in the current timeline.

thanks for reading 😘

[nica-my-beloved]

Alright! So I'm done with Xeno and I'm surprised. It's a good route but there are some issues.

👇👇👇Spoilers 👇👇👇

Xeno's route isn't too complicated as say, Gilbert's route. The story is good enough to make me wanna keep reading it. I like that from the very start, we get a clear idea of Xeno's personality. A perfectionist.

Xeno is the center of exeCreed and probably also the lead vocalist. Although he's not the actual leader of the group, the members mostly follow him. Xeno is pretty hardworking and I mean VERY HARDWORKING. He always has a plan on how the members perform their stage shows, he's always the one directing everything and everyone listens to him because his ideas and strategies are very good. In short all the members really respect him. But the problem is, if something goes not according to the plan, Xeno will start throwing tantrums. He would scold his members for not going according to the plan. For example, during one of their stage performance, Finn did a dance routine in front of the crowd which was not according to the group's plan. This led to Xeno and the members fighting. Xeno doesn't like it when something, even if its the smallest thing, doesn't go according to the pre-determined plan. Although the other members are frustrated, they still respect Xeno because he's very talented and hardworking. They do raise their voices but in the end, they would just move on like always.

Xeno's personality is greatly influenced by his past and his current mission in life. The reason why Xeno is such a perfectionist and why he's so cold to others? is what we learn from his story.

Xeno or should I say Rio Seika (his real name), his main goal is to find out about his parents' death and take revenge on their killer. Believe it or not, Xeno comes from a very well-off family. His father was the former president of a very big media company. While he was in New York (for his studies, I assume) he received the news that his parents died in a car accident. Xeno was then adopted by his uncle but his uncle didn't treat him well. Xeno also felt very fishy about the way his parents died. This is where Xeno's story arc starts. He decides to run away from his uncle and started living on his own. He decided to be singer and dancer and polish his skills as each day went by. He wasn't a prodigy or anything. Nor did he had dreams of becoming one. He polished his singing and dancing skills everyday so that one day he could become very popular and powerful singer who could then challenge the current president of his father's media company, his uncle. Who is also the killer of his parents.

Xeno's real reason for being an idol is just so because he can be powerful enough to bring down his uncle. But even so, in a way he did end up liking it because when he sings, he still puts whatever emotions he feel into his singing. It's not half-baked. People still feel mesmerised listening to his voice. Even his members.

Xeno simply only sees his members as just co-workers and not as friends at first. In the story, he suffers an injury in the leg which led to his dancing being awkward. Yet he never revealed the injury to his members because of his pride and wanting to be a perfectionist in every way. But the members were smart enough to notice his injury because they have spend together quite some time to know each other very well. This leads to the members forming a bond of understanding each other, and the ice walls around Xeno also starts to slowly melt. We can see Xeno thanking his members and trying to get closer to him. It's really sweet scene.

I hate to say this, but the story does have some cringy dialogues similar to Ikemen Prince. Here, it's like "Thank you for melting the ice in my heart and turning me into a human." There are lot dialogues like that and I'm sure this isn't how people actually talk. If you talk like that, I suggest you get therapy. I'm being serious.

Another thing I'd like to shed some light on is, how Xeno and Rina (MC) relationship develops. It moves very slowly but we can actually see their relationship improving from the way how Xeno addresses her. Xeno at the start of the story calls her by her company name - 'Aegis'. Later when they get a little bit closer, he calls her by her last name - 'Kawanaga'. Soon, the tone in which he calls her starts to sound more caring and we see him approaching her first rather than other way around. In addition, helping her with her commercial planning and stuff. But the part where I think looked awkward is when Rina out of no where confessed her love for Xeno in Chapter 20. I was surprised seeing the sudden confession out of blue because I felt it was a little too rushed. I can see these two moving closer and having a nice friendship. But for them to fall in love, I would say maybe give them 3 or more chapters and some nice sexual tension scenes to make it seem like there is something romantically going on between them.

But that doesn't matter because the very next chapter Xeno accepts her heart and kisses her. Also he calls her by her first name from then on. I actually loved it when he called her by her first name, Rina.

Honestly though, I like Xeno AFTER he fell in love with Rina, because before he was very strict and unapproachable also a little bit annoying. But after he fell in love, he becomes the most passionate lover I've ever seen. He went from being:

Xeno: "Aegis! You better do your work properly or I'll kick you out immediately!!"

To:

Xeno: "Rina....I love you so much *kiss kiss kiss* I wanna melt you with my warmth....do you also want too?"

The route is fairly good for a first play but I have a feeling I'm gonna end up liking Jace's route more because his personality is winning my heart (also he has long hair which he ties up). I'd give Xeno's route a 7/10.

[sailorsplatoon]

New dedfour chapter incoming!!! This one's a little more mundane, but it's important to the storyline!

First (prologue)

Previous

Next

Read it on ao3!

(Fanfic under cut)

“I found my way into the Deepsea Metro because I was trying to find a club to DJ in. I guess my music eventually caught the attention of…” Acht’s voice trailed off and they waved their hand in the air, trying to indicate who they meant rather than say the actual name of the telephone that had controlled them, as if they might resurrect it from the dead. “It offered for me to be able to focus on nothing but my music. I was kind of doing that already, so I said yes. I can’t really remember much after that, but then I showed up here and I was myself again.” Four listened attentively. They’d been talking about what the two of them had been through for some time now. Neither were ready to leave 21F. Pearl, Marina, and Eight seemed content to stay as well.

“How do I know that I chose the right world? Like, there’s one side of me that’s screaming for order and one that’s screaming for chaos and I can’t tell which one is real.”

“There is no one that’s the right one, just different parts of your life. Being sanitized, or I guess greyscaled in your case, is just going to be a part of you now. It’s hard to accept that something bad and scary happened and that you’re never going to be the same afterwards, but if you can’t come to terms with that then you’re just stuck in this in between space. What you have to decide is which version of you is the one you want to be. It doesn’t matter which one is right or wrong, just that you’re happy.”

“Are you happy?”

“Oh that’s a big question. I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out together.” Acht stood up and offered Four their hand. They took it and Acht pulled them up. “Let’s get back to the elevator. We’ll keep climbing and you’ll be able to get more of your memories back.”

“Yeah!” Four smiled. They bared their teeth when they did, and their entire face seemed to light up. Acht felt their hearts thumping in their chest. That was new, most of the time their organs didn’t work at all. They didn’t even need to breathe, yet right now they felt short of breath. They could only hope Four didn’t notice their palms sweating. What was happening to them? Sanitization was a total loss of emotion, but now Acht felt the exact opposite— a rush of every feeling in the world all at once.

The two entered the elevator and Acht pressed the button for the next floor. Four and Pearl left moments later to begin the challenge. 

“Marina? Can I ask a question?” Acht typically wouldn’t go out on a whim like this, but they needed answers.

“Sure thing, Acht. What do you need?” Marina seemed excited. She knew whatever Acht needed to ask would be really interesting.

“How do you know you’re in love with Pearl?”

“Oh where do I begin! Being around Pearlie makes me feel better than I do when I’m with anyone else. It’s like I can really open up around her. Just thinking about her makes me blush. She always knows exactly how to make me happy and she cares about me so much. And when she sings it feels like my heart is singing in harmony with hers! And her eyes are some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And when she sets off her Killer Wail…” Acht had slowly stopped listening. They should have known Marina would end up talking about Pearl endlessly. 

As if summoned by Marina’s gushing, Pearl and Four came back into the elevator.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Pearl did a little flip as she entered the lift. Four followed close behind.

“You and how wonderful you are.” Marina smiled at the drone.

“Aww well if you’re gonna talk about me then I guess I have to talk about how wonderful you are.”

“Here we go again,” Acht thought as they pressed the button for 23F. Again, the elevator dinged and Pearl and Four left to complete the floor.

“Soooooo Acht! Why did you want to know how I know I love Pearl?” Marina asked.

“No reason. Just curious.” Acht tired to dodge the question. 

“No I think there’s a very good reason. Acht do you think you might be… ooh I’m too excited to say it. Eight, help me out here!” Marina squealed.

“Are you in love with Agent 4?” Eight grinned. He was a sucker for a good romance.

“Hey look I think Pearl and Four are almost done.” Acht looked out the elevator doors at the two. They were no where near done, but Acht needed something to distract Marina and Eight.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this conversation so easily. We can pause for now, but this isn’t over,” Marina said before turning her attention to Pearl just as she set off a Killer Wail.

“That sounds like a threat.” 

“Maybe it is.” Eight flashed a mischievous smirk. It seemed like he was getting more comfortable around Acht. They weren’t sure if that was good or bad.

“Does it even matter if I like them or not?”

“Of course it matters! Acht, you have to tell them how you feel.” Marina emphasized each word.

“I haven’t felt anything in a long time, Marina. How do I know if the way that I’m defining this is even right?” Acht was very ready to be done with this conversation. But at the same time, the thought of telling Four they love them made Acht’s hearts thump even harder than they already were.

“You remember your brother, right? And your dad?” Marina pressed.

Acht was silent.

“It’s not the same kind of love, but you still love them. You know what love feels like, Acht. And I know that you don’t fall in love easily, you have to have the right person. I think Agent 4 is your right person.”

As Marina finished her sentence, Pearl and Four came back into the elevator.

“Welcome back you two.” Acht rushed their words.

“Four absolutely rocked that floor, they took down those Jelletons like it was nothing!” Pearl was enthusiastic. Now that Four had most of their personality back, they were way more fun to fight alongside. “Let’s head to the next floor and get them back out there, they’re on a roll!”

“Great, let’s get you to 24F.” Acht clicked the button and the elevator continued onward.

As Four set their chip into their palette, they jumped slightly in surprise. “Holy fuck!” they shouted before turning to face Eight and wrapping their arms around him. “I’m sorry I forgot about you. And I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

Eight hugged Four back, saying, “It’s okay. I missed you.” Acht couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how affectionate Four was towards him.

The two let go of each other and Four turned to Pearl and Marina. “I remember the both of you now too. I don’t know what else to say other than I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Agent 4. What happened wasn’t your fault at all. If anything I should be the one apologizing.” Marina twisted the bottom hem of her jacket.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t try to murder all of you.”

“And that doesn’t mean it wasn’t my fault.”

“I don’t blame you at all.” Four gave a small, sad smile before looking over at Acht. “I still don’t—”

“You wouldn’t.” Acht interrupted. “We’ve never met before. I’m Acht. I know we’ve already done introductions, but you’re more you now.”

“Nice to meet you, Acht, I’m Four. And thank you for all your help earlier.”

Acht didn’t know what to say for a moment. Then they muttered, “You’re welcome.”

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ internalized fakeclaiming, RA/TBC/OA

As a self, I don’t really believe we went through extreme trauma. I know we have scars and the CAT scan showed some old damage, but I’m not convinced that absolutely ties back to memories. I’m allowed to do this because these are my memories, I’m a subsystem member who was there for that. I do the therapeutic neutrality thing to other residents, which they hate; I neither believe nor disbelieve you, I wasn’t there and you can’t prove it.

Every time I get close to deciding maybe this happened, I read another academic article telling me not to do that (or at least clinicians not to do that for their clients). I list all the reasons I’ve read mean we’re faking, even when I don’t do those things. I don’t think it’s healthy to apply those rules to others, but I can’t hold that for myself. If they say we’re one person, I don’t get to argue. If we’re one person, everything they do is my problem. We’re all faking together, even if I don’t experience myself as a part.

They go to group therapy. They’ve told people about what we’ve been through, even if not the details. I can’t do that, not even in therapy, but they’ve gone and done it already, so I guess I did too.

Our presentation people always use the same sing-songy annoying voices, and that means we’re lying about whatever they say we went through; belle indifference.

We don’t stay inside all day, we’re not properly disabled by our trauma, so how could we have gone through something that bad and not show it?

I’m not allowed to hide, I’m not allowed to flinch, I don’t feel anything about my memories but hopelessness. Towards the end I didn’t have any fear left to give. Can’t have trauma without trauma responses, and those ones don’t count. I don’t know about what the others do or how they’re ruining our lives, so probably they’re not. We’re not symptomatic enough for that to be real.

Amnesia is why I have injuries. An external cultural narrative is why I have these memories. Exo trauma, but I can’t deal with that in reality. My therapist says I can, but nobody else does. Maybe I’m a bad influence.

I know we have DID (are DID? I don’t know the phrasing), but you can get that from any kind of trauma. Some people don’t have any, their brains just do it. We have some, maybe. But not enough to justify our structure. Maybe we do have MADD and most of us aren’t real. They’re gonna be upset that I said that, though.

We talk about the system. We have social media and use our names sometimes in public. That’s weird, we’re supposed to be ashamed about it. I’m ashamed that we’re not ashamed. I don’t know enough about the others to talk about them. I think maybe I do want to, and that’s bad.

They say they want to be CDS (have CDS? A CDS?), Complex Dissociative Structure. That this is healing. I thought we’re supposed to suffer.

I remembered my name. It’s maybe not an insult. Normal DID systems have that, it’s not indicative of anything. Maybe just trauma.

If doctors don’t believe me, I must not be believable. It’s not that those things can’t happen, but they couldn’t happen to me. I had a good life, my family was mostly functional. They didn’t mean to break us, even if they didn’t care to know better.

It’s like a bruise, it’s better if it’s not real. I made it up, or our brain gave it to me as symbolism. I’m barely real. A confused part of a person who reads too much. That must be it.

I’m not supposed to complain about other residents’ coping, but we do this too often. Even if those articles are right, they are very clearly not helping. I believe our therapist — our reality matters, even if it’s only real to us. It’s not like we’re pressing charges, and they don’t own us to say we’re ruining their lives by leaving. It’s like a damn rupture with a clinician who doesn’t even treat us.

[homunculus-argument]

I had a dream about my family. I was in some sort of a school graduation - held in the gym hall of a school, decorated for spring, like finnish end-of-schoolyear celebrations are. I don't know why I was there, since I don't know anyone with kids that age.

For some reason they decided to sing some song about a father sitting home alone, trying to watch TV, thinking about how 18 years ago he brought a baby boy home with no idea what he's doing, but how his son mercifully always was a better kid than he himself had been, and now his son is in Ukraine. In real life Finland isn't sending draft troops to the war over there, but apparently in the dream that was something so common and obvious that just mentioning the name was enough of an explanation for a regular radio song to make it clear what happened to this guy's son.

I was in the hall by myself for some reason, singing vaguely along as I followed the lyrics from the ceremony pamphlet I'd gotten. Unexpectedly and with no warning, my sister grabbed and hugged me from behind. I knew it was her immediately, nobody else does that same kind of a rough grab and wiggle and her long hair was getting into my face. It was something so typical of her - just grabbing you to shower you with affection with zero pause to hesitate and consider whether you would want that, that I knew it was her immediately.

My mom showed up as well, and started talking to me. I can't recall whose kid I was at that school for, and they fortunately didn't ask. I can't remember what explanation they had for why they were there, but apparently my sister had a baby these days, an infant that was already talking like a two-year-old and was starting to learn to read. My sister didn't have her son with her, so I didn't get to see him. My mom and sister asked what I'm doing after the ceremony, saying I could join them to go to whatever they were doing. I said no, that I had other plans, even though I don't think I did.

Just because it's been a year and they would be ready to act like nothing happened, that doesn't mean I'd be willing to forgive them with no apology.

[panicloser]

DDLC characters when they're drunk headcanons

as someone who has never gotten drunk I am obviously the right person to make headcanons on this ;D (some of this headcanons are more set for when they're older)

------------------------------------------

Yuri

-I think would handle it the best out of all them. She has the most experience drinking out of all them so she knows her limits

-She has a pretty high tolerance though

-One of the big reasons she likes drinking is because it lessens her social anxiety 

-Gets increasingly more social and talkative the more she drinks, she’s gets more open and relaxed and is more willing to try talking to others even if she still comes off weird

-Along with that she also gets increasingly more impulsive

-She can already be a bit impulsive at times when she’s sober but this fact skyrockets when she’s drunk since there’s no voice of reason holding her back

-When she gets really drunk, without fail she will always do or say something in the spur of the moment that she horrifically regrets the next day which she’ll then proceed to agonise over it for the rest of the week

-If she’s in a good mood when this happens it’s usually just something really embarrassing that her friends tease her for

-If she’s in a bad mood when this happens something more dangerous could happen 

-She learnt from experience how much to drink as to not get to that point but also feel the weight of social anxiety lighten a bit

-If she’s drunk she needs someone to babysit her and keep a close eye on her, when she’s tipsy she babysits her drunk friends

-Also if she’s around someone she’s interested in romantically while she’s drinking she can turn real flirty

-She’s got some banger pick up lines up her sleeve, Yuri rizz is real

-When texting, still tries to spell good when she’s drunk but it doesn’t work out so well

-Imagine her infodumping while drunk, imagine a drunken Yuri rant, 10/10 must have experience

Natsuki

-She’s got a short tolerance and she’s not afraid to use it

-Was scared to drink at first because it reminded her of her dad but it ended up working out okay

-To sum up her drunken self, whatever emotion she’s feeling when she drinks will be exacerbated when she’s drunk

-if she’s in a good happy mood, she’s the life of the party, she’ll be energetic, much friendlier, she’s loud, excited, might stand on a table or two

-if she’s angry, she’s willing to throw hands over a slice of pizza. Copious amounts of swearing and angry half baked rants, again she’s loud, she’s a scary little feral gremlin. Tries not to angry drink since she usually ends up regretting those the most

-if she’s sad, she’s a hundred percent gonna end up crying. Will be more willing to spill her feelings, she’ll complain to the nearest friend, she’s pretty quiet and soft-spoken in this state.

-You might even see a rare clingy Natsuki if she’s in a certain mood

-overall she’s a wild card, a mixed bag of a drinking buddy

-Really likes going to karaoke and singing really badly and loudly between drinks

-hates the fact that she ends up throwing up 90% of the time

-a lot of burps and hiccups, she chuckles at it everytime

-still has a pretty good sense of danger when drunk off her ass

-a drunk Natsuki gets flustered cripplingly easily and can’t hide it, she falls apart, keep that in mind if you flirt with her

-cannot fucking hear you if you talk to her in a reasonable tone at a slight distance, goddamn deaf woman

Sayori

-the least coherent drunk out of these four

-also doesn’t have a very high tolerance, it doesn’t take many drink for it to get to her

-doesn’t like drinking too often but every now and again is okay

-is just super duper out of it when she’s drunk

-she’ll be half zoned out the whole time, her brain is %100 just vibing

-surprisingly won’t say much, she’ll have mild reactions to what’s happening around her or she’ll say or ask something really random out of nowhere every few minutes

-if you ask her a question she’ll reply like ten minutes later, very slow processing, windows 98 brain

-is extra clumsy when drunk. She’ll drop and knock over so many things and probably fall at some point. The next morning she’ll wake up with a bruise with no memory of how she got it

-if she’s in a good mood when drunk she’ll be really calm and lightly bubbly

-but drinking is bad for her when she’s not in a good mood. Can turn into a sad drunk, her feelings become even heavier than usual and she can spiral really bad, she sometimes fears drinking due to experiencing this before

-tends to get sleepy and drowsy. She’ll always end up passing out by the end of a session

-on rare occasion, if there’s alcohol in the house she’ll drink a bit when she’s having problems insomnia problems

-also most likely gets extra cuddly and affectionate when she’s drunk or tipsy

Monika

-usually drinks the least out of the four of them

-has a medium sized tolerance

-the only reason she drinks the least amount is because of  the lack of control she has when she’s under the influence

-doesn’t mind being a little tipsy so much, will just be more relaxed at that point

-an existential drunk 

-starts questioning the meaning of life, her purpose, why things are the way they are and other deep questions, half of them end up not making sense

-can spiral too deep and either get depressed or turn into a conspiracy theorist

-either that or she’s a clingy affectionate drunk

-if there is anyone she cares about there, especially if it’s in a romantic way, she will cling to them the whole time and use every type of love language she can think of on them

-she also talks a lot, she talks about random stories or things she finds interesting or about her feelings, anything, she wants to shut up but she can’t stop

-and of course she’s more impulsive too and will go along with whatever idea someone comes up with

-she perceives her drunk self to be annoying and embarrassing which is why she now avoids it as much as she can

-protecc drunk Monika

--------------------------------------------

was gonna do some hcs on how the interact with each other but might do that another time im lazy now

(apologies if this whole thing is a terrible grasp on what being drunk is like I've just had these headcanons stuck in my head for a while now man)

[fantasygerard2000]

Read your arguments for Magnifico and honestly they aren't as well presented either. They are just mainly assumptions rather than actual things established in the movie. Especially calling him a narcissist and associating a disorder, which you are trying to use the NPD version here, to natural prone to evil traits. We can say he's vain, but we really need to not touch narcissm here

This is not me saying he's not a villain or that I particularly cared for him btw. He's a very boring villain and character overall. They all are ngl.

The movie just has a tone problem with its characters cuz at the end of the day they had an entirely different story in mind just to revamp it and confusing animators and writers what these characters are supposed to be like. Amaya was evil at one point but since they scrapped that now she's just clueless but also witnessed all the "bad things" Magnifico has done which makes her an accomplice but also not really shes just a background character that just doesn't do anything significant.

But yeah Magnifico is one of those characters where I don't see him as a victim or a compelling villain either cuz the story doesn't establish anything to make me care. Same thing for Asha though

It's just every time I read something from Magnifico fans or hater or whatever you fall in, it's just assumptions based on preconceived notions of other Disney villains

"The evil queen and Gaston are villains because they are vain!" No what made them villains is that they killed and did other evil deeds because they couldn't stand to be second best and thats based on their vain. Magnifico's vanity doesn't do anything for his villainy other than sing an obnoxious musical number. If some part of his vanity had any part of his villainy it's immediately overshadowed with that stupid book that supposedly makes it's users evil a very useless detail for a villain that is naturally bad from the start. Wouldn't it had been interesting if Amaya assumed the book turns you evil but it actually doesn't Magnifico has always been like that? But nope, the book establishes this lore

Anyways sorry for this essay it's just this movie messed up on so many beats that I can't help but see why there are so many conflicting opinions of these characters. They either have nothing or the movie gives them conflicting goals that don't add up

Oh, so we entering ethics of diagnosing a fictional characters now? Magnifico has traits of a narcissist but I never said anything about him having NPD, or diagnosing him because I ain't no psychiatrist and I know full well that diagnosing a character with a disorder has obviously unfortunately implications towards real people who have them so I avoid doing that. If I did so unintentionally, I apologize because that was not my intention.

Gaston and the Evil Queen are villains because their stories are personal to their main characters. Snow White and the dwarfs see the queen as a villain because she wants Snow White dead for being prettier than her. The reason she hasn't been overthrown because she's literally the queen and people don't want to piss her off.

Same with Gaston who the town sees as a public figure and a bit of a local celebrity. Belle only sees him as a self entitled jerk but what made him crossed it is when he threatened to send Maurice into the asylum if Belle refuses to marry him.

Tremaine is a better example because she does what it takes to make Cinderella's life miserable just to make herself feel better. She would have just find another rich man to marry and leave Cinderella, but no, she chose to remain in that house and treat her as a slave in her own house because she wants to. It's her spite and pettiness that made her dedicated to treat Cinderella like garbage.

While Wish does indeed have issues, the people who are confused about it are either just not paying attention or are just looking for an excuse to be angry at not understanding it. Wish is very straightforward with its story and themes yet people who sympathize with Magnifico flat out refuse to get it in their heads that Magnifico is a straight up cult leader and just like real life cult leaders, they isolate their followers, feeding them beliefs so that they can only rely on their leaders.

The reason why I'm vocal against Magnifico defenders are largely because they treat him like he did nothing wrong and accuse Asha of being the real villain for suggesting him to doing his dang job as a king and granter of wishes. Recently, I just don't like to engage with them, largely because just like with debatebros, debating with them is just a waste of time and stressful.

Playing middle ground against the haters and the fans isn't exactly a hill worth dying on because if you genuinely don't care, you wouldn't be participating in telling both sides are incorrect.

And to be honest, after seeing so many people talking about how Wish is not as good as the stuff they like, I just honestly stopped caring about what they say. Even getting recommended videos about why it's animation and music sucks, I just don't watch them and dismiss them. I get that Wish was not a good movie, so was Chicken Little and Home on the Range yet those movies still have fans that grew up watching them.

If you like Wish, good for you. And if you hate it, that's fine. Different tastes in media is not an issue. Its when people who care too much about things they don't like are the ones causing the problem, and they can easily solved if you just don't give them a darn.

[paramorearchived]

September 12, 2012

Transcript:

to be happy now.

fair warning. i am allllll over the place tonight! so hopefully, you guys can follow along down these rabbit trails...

we're officially a little over half-way through the tracking of this album. it feels real-er than ever. i'm starting to understand all these songs more and where they've actually come from... for a minute, it was such a whirlwind of inspiration, emotion, and sweat. now that we've spent some time getting to know the album and growing with it, i can finally tell myself it's real. i can just almost tell myself that it's alright to relax. 

have you ever been that way? haven't you ever said "things are so great right now that i know something's bound to go wrong... any minute." just so you know, i might be the QUEEN of that phrase. maybe it's part of being a total realist? maybe it's just the fact that i've been through some rough situations and i know how awful it feels not to be prepared for the worst? it's been a while since i didn't have my fists in a ball... since i wasn't sort of on the defense, waiting for the attack. if there was an actual good reason for why i lived that way for so long i'd give it to you but now that i'm (hopefully!) passed that, it's a little unclear as to why that would ever be worth it. because now i wake up every morning and i know for certain that there are at least a few good people around me, if not physically then just by an iPhone somewhere, who could look me in the eye and tell me that they love me. i've got just enough blood in my veins and air in my lungs to know that i am definitely not dead. and that could be enough to say outloud, to myself... "You're OK!" 

another thing to consider is what if there is a part of us that doesn't fully want to be satisfied? what if there's something that asks us: if everything is "OK" then what do we have to strive for? to LIVE for, even? that's the constant duel in my spirit! i want life to go smoothly but when it's all working out... i'm sort of bored. ugh. it reminds me of a lyric by mewithoutYou that i've always connected with so deeply. "All I want is to want one thing." how beautifully that depicts our nature as humans to want everything, sometimes multiple things at once that couldn't be more opposite... and in the end get upset with the whole thing and want to get rid of desire altogether. (i digress!) 

what i've had to learn during this last year and a half, is that i might actually just be happy with where life is heading at this point. doesn't mean i'll always feel this way. nothing's perfect... at least for very long! anyway, it might just be OK to be happy now. right now in this very moment. i should just go with it, right? by the way, if i don't sound completely insane to you after 3 paragraphs which all are complete contradictions to each other then i appreciate your patience and flexible perspective. 

all this to say, i feel happy and i feel like my soul is actually being fulfilled. not only by the making of this album but also by the few close relationships i have in my life that have either stood the test of time or have bloomed from virtually nothing since entering whatever phase of my life i'm in at the moment. i'm not waiting for the sky to fall because i know that while the sky is staying up there in it's place, i have my opportunity to live. no more wasting time, hope, emotions, on worrying when, if, or how i could ever be let down again. i'm going to tell myself it's okay to be happy now.

i guess i want to finish this off by asking you what fulfills you. what is it that reaches your soul? it doesn't have to be some profound thing or even anything cool. if you can hold that one thing in your mind and know that you're exactly who you are supposed to be in that moment, then that could be all you need to get from point A to point B. maybe i want to finish THAT by saying, let's all listen to "One Thing" by One Direction and sing it to each other. you've got that one thing and guess what? it doesn't even need to be named. cause you just know and so does One Direction.

ok, i don't know how you made it to the end of this.... love you, mean it.  hayley

[onceuponalegendbg]

Alright, so. I've had some time. Let's see if I can gather my thoughts.

I always have this problem with series finales. This feeling that I wanted so much more than the show was able or willing to give. I think it's because I just don't like the idea that shows have to end, even if I know that they obviously should. I had that feeling with most shows I've watched that did end up reaching their natural conclusions. So trying to separate that knee-jerk response from my genuine feelings is a bit of a hassle.

I think a lot of my complaints really just boil down to the old tried and true 'we needed more time' honestly. Or things I'd rather have spent time on than what they did. I understand, for instance, that the hextech/arcane was central to the main plot, but honestly I was way more invested in the personal dramas than whatever was going on with that. And that's not really the shows fault, that's just my preference.

This one might be divisive but I think there were too many music video segments. Don't get me wrong, it was all great but... it also just felt like maybe we didn't need two in every episode. I think in the first season only eps 7 and 9 had more than one song (technically episode 1 as well if you count Powder singing at the beginning).

I still don't like Jayce. ....I couldn't tell you why I'm so apathetic to him, I just am. Every time he's on screen I can feel myself checking out. It's wild.

Let's see.... I think that's it....

Okay, so on to the good stuff. Honestly it's more of the same from season 1: The animation, the music, the characters, the story, the way each act was designed specifically to hurt me personally for some reason.

Jinx's arc especially was so fascinating to watch over these two seasons. They really took some turns with her I couldn't have called and I think they nailed it. She's not dead, by the way. I'm willing to bet money on that.

I love Vi and Cait, both together and as individuals. As someone with younger siblings, Vi's relationship with Jinx was enthralling. Imagining being put in any of those scenarios really just broke my heart and made me want to hug all of my siblings. Vi in a lot of ways was cursed like Jinx. Every good thing she tried to do, every attempt to fix something, to hold on to something, was usually violently torn from her. Vi has such a big heart, and watching it get stomped on over and over was not fun.

And Cait. Oh my girl Caitlyn. She is definitely an element of the story I think needed just a bit more time. I'm not gonna sit here and say that the writers handled her return from hell perfectly. There's definitely some hurdles we jumped two at a time, but I also think they left enough for the audience to pick up on that it's not entirely jarring. As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, her having a few months to distance herself from the immediate fallout of Cass' death probably did help with perspective, and then it was just a matter of finding a way to break off from Ambessa without getting killed all while still wanting Jinx dead. There's a lot of complicated emotions and logistics that needed to be juggled with her storyline this season but overall... I think I'm okay with it. It's not my favorite storyline this season (despite being the one I was most looking forward to going in) but it's good. I see it. I get it.

Ekko, my underappreciated king and ultimate best boy. I love this kid so much. He's never done anything wrong in his life, ever, and I will die on this hill. ....No but for real, I love Ekko and I wish he could have been in the show more.

Mel was also a surprise hit for me. I liked her in season 1, no doubt, already in the first act of this season I could not wait to see how it was all going to play out with her mom. While her storyline was obviously setting up for future installments in this world, I got to say, seeing her go all out was fantastic.

You want to know who I genuinely did not expect to fall in love with so much this season? Sevika. My girl. Again, I liked her in season 1, but she really stepped up this season and every scene with her (and Jinx) had my rapt attention. Sneaky fav of the show goes to Sevika.

I don't really have many thoughts on Viktor. I'm not apathetic to him like Jayce but I also just... wasn't entirely interested in his plotline. Like I said earlier, the hextech/arcane stuff wasn't my focus and that's essentially a lot of what his story was. The visuals with him were gorgeous though.

So, yeah. I really loved this show. It's not perfect, not even season 1 was perfect, but with how much time and effort and ambition was put into this thing, I'd say the crew have something they can truly be proud of. I had a good time, and for me that's all that actually matters.

[sharingfandoms]

So like in your tags under the bb vs msp poll I saw you mentioning that msp was bad written and tingun aren't as healthy as people claim they are.....and I was like YEAH!! EXACTLY!! But I wasn't able to pinpoint it. Would you mind elaborating on those tags??

ohhh wowwwww my first ask!!!!! of course i will. i am also really happy that someone agrees since i kind of always found myself pretty alone in this lmaooo. thank you for your question!!! much appreciated! ♥

First claim: MSP is bad written

Yes, it is. For many reasons. I will elaborate on the main two.

It kind of presents itself as some sort of heir of Bad Buddy, but the comparison is pale to say the least. The main characters don't really have any reasons not to date. They could date in secret from the very start, as soon as they realize they both have feelings for each other, and then come out as an actual couple as soon as the whole music contest is over, or something like that (even waiting for another year until they graduate could be a valid choice tbh). No particular drama needed. They could still go to each other's houses and make out all day in bed while Gun's mom is working, or go out somewhere public without their classmates present and have a real date.

The actual conflict that makes them star-crossed lovers is ridiculous at best. The mere idea that a school club in high school (well, Mattayom actually, but whatever) would have a rule like that is genuinely stupid - like, it's not even 'club members can't date', but 'those who are in this club and going for Hot Wave can't have a faen'. Like, hello? What if I've had a faen before joining this damn club? I'm supposed to break up with them because some idiot thinks that'll make me more focused on singing and playing music? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm only accepting this as something not entirely crazy and fucked up if there's some cultural reference I'm missing behind it (if things really work like that anywhere in Thailand, then apologies, pretend you never read this last complain; but I did look it up on the internet and didn't find anything about it). It'd still sound stupid, but at least it'd make sense. It was something so out of the blue that just felt like the opposite of plot armor: something made entirely just to create an obstacle to the love story of the main guys once their path was clear and they were both sure about their feelings (if that's such an important rule, why didn't it come up sooner? It felt like watching a kids show, where threats gradually become scarier the more our protagonist becomes stronger). Regardless, like I said, it was not that bad for them.

Pat and Pran are star-crossed lovers because the parents they love and admire - and are economically dependent on - hate each other and actively tried to keep them apart, causing trauma and pain on both ends. They can't get rid of them. It's not highschool, it's not a damn music club you'll eventually get out of (soon enough!!!). It's their whole life. It's the people they love the most who are trying to oppose their relationship (not to mention their friends as well, while Tinn and Gun have full support on that regard). They feel guilty, they feel sad, they don't want to have to say goodbye to their fucking families in order to keep their relationship going. This is serious, and complicated - and practical, as money does buy happiness after all. This will last, probably forever, until their parents will finally come around and accept things are the way they are - we see a glint of it happening in the last episode, at least. Compared to this, Gun and Tinn are fine, really. Even a teenager should be able to see that. The writers didn't have to go out of their ways to make comparisons that martyr PatPran's symbols, like having them use the word 'friend' instead of 'boyfriend' as an 'inside joke', or their colors, or anything at all really, only for them to be related to a fucking school club rule.

The secondary couples are bad handled, which is a shame because I was genuinely interested in Sound and Win at first. I even dared to hope - fully aware I was fooling myself, but at least hoping it was going to be a fun road to something interesting and original! - that they would have actually written an aromantic/demiromantic character in this drama, based on what Win says to Sound in episode 10. But then everything that episode was supposed to be a build-up for in terms of their bond just suddenly disappears in the next, when they're somehow in an established relationship already. Great? Would have been nice to see that happening on screen, I guess. I suppose that's what happens when you WASTE so many episodes around only two characters (TinnGun), relegating focus on your secondary couple (I won't even mention the third couple, since there isn't much to say about them tbh) in the last ones, making it rushed and kind of pointless (this also happened with the feud between Tinn and Sound, which never got explained to the viewers for some reason; okay). And they even get an explicit PatPran reference at some point towards the end of the drama, which makes me cry and not in a good way - poor babies, don't worry, we'll all just collectively forget your outfits and cans were even brought up in MPS in the first place.

Second claim: TinnGun are not as healthy as people say they are

I want to be brief with this one, because people are going to hate on me anyway, and I don't feel like writing a whole ass essay on those two. All I have to say is: if this couple had been heterosexual, people would have probably hated it. With how much double standards affect the way people perceive female characters and straight relationships, all those traits that make them state Tinn is a green-flag and a lovable simp would instead have them assert that he's a succubus, that he's not indipendent enough, that he's only obsessed with the guy and doesn't actually love him, and that he doesn't do much in the show other than being the love interest. Usually, when people say these things related to female characters, they're wrong - and just being mysogynistic, hating on any girl who dares to have a cute crush on a guy. Ironically enough, in Tinn's case, they wouldn't even be all that wrong.

Like I said, I don't feel like elaborating much on this issue, unless anon really wants me to - then I'll dive into it in detail in another post. But, like, genuinely, Gun really pissed me off at times, he often takes Tinn for granted (I'm thinking about that one moment where Tinn tells him he's not going to make it to one of their rehearsals and he gets mad about it, as if Tinn hasn't been at his disposal the entire fucking time; that scene really made me feel uncomfortable, because if I were the one who had been so helpful to anyone at all, just for them to treat me like that as soon as I have a problem of my own and can't attend to theirs, I'd be genuinely disappointed; and yes, I know that Gun will later change his attitude, but I feel like there was no weight placed on this matter, as if him finally acknowledging Tinn's struggles and effort wasn't a turning point in their story but more like something optional that just kind of happened), and I feel like their relationship is often unbalanced on many aspects.

I won't elaborate on all the other claims - "he's obsessed with the guy", "he doesn't do much in the show other than being the love interest" -, but I do genuinely believe there should be more dialogue about them in the fandom. I never once read anyone complain about these issues, and I know for a fact they'd have come up immediately had it been a female character in Tinn's place.

[onggi]

Rattle Me Good

Sandy’s a real fighter sometimes, got the fire in his eyes that don’t go out ‘til he’s filled you with holes where all your organs used to be. He’s silent but quick to anger and you never know what exactly set him off because sometimes he’ll go off for no reason at all. Like a gun without the safety on. Loose screws.

I like to play the banjo a little. Wouldn’t say I’m much good at it — wouldn’t say I’m much good at anything — but I know enough that Sandy don’t blow a hole right through me when I pick it up and get to strumming. Sometimes I take requests, sometimes I don’t, and I never, ever sing. Not after that one time when Sandy was shaking like a goddamn leaf under the midnight sky and I said, “want a lullaby?”, only I weren’t really joking, and he slugged me in the jaw and went real still like, black eyes burning like coals.

He didn’t say nothing, but I knew what that stare meant. That’s your warning shot, Dusty. Next one’s gonna be a killer. I knew that stare because I’d been on the other end of it a thousand times, usually accompanied by a puff of cigar smoke and the click of a buckle.

That’s why I’m kinda hesitant like, watching his eyes flicker back and forth like he’s a horse about to spook in the middle of the saloon. Usually he’s mighty calm in one of these here establishments, soothing whatever’s kicking in his head with the taste of the finest booze a traveller’s stingy budget can afford you. Not today.

Sandy don’t talk much. And even when he does, he don’t say much, like everything’s hidden beneath five hundred layers of shit you gotta dig through to get to the root of the thing. I’ll be the first to say I ain’t the smartest, so most of it goes over my head, only sometimes I don’t think he really wants to be understood so much as just wanting to talk to someone. He’d prob’ly slug me again if I said that out loud, though.

I oughta ask if he’s alright. Something’s clearly setting him off, even if I don’t know what, and it might be better for us to leave anyhow since I’m almost done with my scotch and he’s not touching his. I’m stupid enough to open my mouth, the words not even formed in my head yet, but God himself intervenes in the form of a toothy bastard slapping Sandy on the back.

“Carlyle,” he croons with a smirk, and by God is that one helluva smirk. The kinda smirk that you only really see a handful of times, and you remember it each and every time, because the angle is always slightly different.

Toothy’s dark and muscular, wiry and strong like a bull. His eyes glint with trouble and his ears stick out like sails catching the wind. His nose, broad and flat, is perfectly straight. I rub at my own nose self consciously — broke it a few too many times as a kid, I’d like to say, but the reality is I never stopped breaking it and it never healed right anyhow.

“Jim.” Sandy’s voice is all gritty like, harsh and coarse like his name.

They’re on first name basis and I can’t figure out whether that’s closer or not-closer than nickname basis.

Jim seems to take that as an invitation to sit down at the bar, pushing his shoulder right up against Sandy’s like he’s got no fear in his goddamn life. They make a real picture, the two of them, thick and strong and big, bigger than me. Sandy’s still not touching his scotch, but his fingers are clenched around the glass tight enough to shatter it.

I’m praying it don’t shatter.

Jim reaches for Sandy’s scotch and their fingers are on top of each other, interlocking for a moment, before Sandy lets go and the glass is conceded. That smirk is still there, half a mile wide.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts in years.” Jim takes a sip of the scotch. I feel something stir within my gut, like I oughta be defending Sandy’s territory or something, only it’s just a glass and Sandy let him have it anyhow.

Sandy just grunts in response, jaw clenched.

“This your new boy?” Jim tilts the glass in my direction and I sure ain’t making up the way his eyes kinda laugh at me. I know I’m smaller, a little rounder, but it ain’t fucking fair to come in here and take a shot at me while acting like he owns Sandy. He don’t own Sandy.

No one owns Sandy.

I don’t wanna speak for him, but he’s not saying jack shit, so I gotta speak for myself.

“Yeah, I’m his boy.” Louder than intended. “We’re partners.”

Jim looks like he’s aching to laugh at me.

“We’re partners and I don’t know who in the goddamned hell you are, so maybe you should.” Scram. “Introduce yourself.”

Fucking shit, Dusty, every single time. Not an assertive bone in your body.

But maybe it was the right thing to say, on account of how Jim draws himself up like he’s taking a deep, deep breath and he switches over to swilling the drink in its glass, chewing on the inside of his cheek a little. He’s big and shiny and all the things a cowboy oughta be, all the things Sandy is, and Sandy’s an asshole but he’s not this asshole. I wanna make Jim sweat a little.

“I’m Sandy’s old partner,” he says, and it’s not kind like, not at all. “You better leave him before he sells you out. He always does.”

And, what? I’m thinking, I’m really trying, but the Sandy I know don’t sell out nobody, not for anything. The Sandy I know don’t even talk to nobody, let alone turn on ‘em like a rattlesnake in the grass, dangerous and ready to strike where it’ll kill you.

I talk before my brain tells me how stupid I’m being.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it’s not my Sandy.”

Everything happens very quickly. Sandy slams his hands on the bar and stands up, tense as anything, and his eyes are murder. The other patrons mind their own business until there’s a scene, but Jim don’t appear to have any friends with him — or at least not any that’ll throw a punch for him — so they mostly just watch. And Jim himself, splayed out on the barstool with his legs spread wide, smiling like this is what he wanted all along. I just played into it somehow.

I’m expecting Sandy to go crazy on Jim, slug him in the cheek or maybe the jaw. Break his nose. Do something. Because he called Sandy a turncoat, and Sandy ain’t no turncoat. He ain’t no traitor. And cowboy’s honour is big between men, even if it only goes so far.

Instead, Sandy pins me beneath his scary murder eyes and says, “Enough.”

The bang of the warning shot glaring past my ears. I feel ‘em ringing.

“Alright, Sandy.” I know my smile’s prob’ly shaky, on account of my shitty feelings getting in the way, but I know how to placate someone, at least a little. Maybe it makes me less of a man to bow instead of standing ‘til I break, but I don’t care. “Alright, we oughta call it a night, huh?”

I turn to Jim. He’s not smiling anymore, his gaze stormed over like the dust that swirls up in the desert.

“Was nice meeting you, Jim.” Placid. He don’t respond to me, only stare at Sandy like he can’t figure him out no more.

When we’re outta there, Sandy’s half a step ahead of me, always slightly out of reach. I almost wanna reach out and grab him by the arm, but that warning shot’s still ringing ringing ringing like a bell that won’t quit. Sandy stops in the dark place between two houses and then he’s facing me, coals burning in his eyes.

“Why’d you say that.” Not really a question, even though it’s phrased like one.

“I don’t know, why’d you let him say all those things in the first place?” I lick my teeth. “Calling you a traitor and all when you’re not.”

Sandy’s got me by the collar then, nose inches from my face. “You don’t know what I am.”

He’s taller than me. My collar’s gonna rip if he pulls on it much harder, steaming and huffing like a stallion about to buck his horseman right off. I’m so close to his face but I can’t meet his eyes, not when they’re gonna burn right through me and only leave ash behind. So, I look at his dark eyebrow, pinched inwards. I look at his cheekbone, sharp and cutting. I look at the meat of his cheek, barely scarred with acne if you look real, real close, and then I trace my way down his pointy nose. He’s like a bird with that nose, a real fucking beak of a thing. Right now, it feels more like a blade.

Abruptly, he lets me go, and I watch all the fight bleed out of him.

“Oughta call it a night,” he grunts, and everything’s clicking back into place. What just happened ain’t gonna happen again.

On the quiet walk back to our room, I think a little. Jim, with his glowing dark skin and smiling eyes. Sandy, gruff and red and angry as the devil. I can imagine them together, cutting a real smart figure against the landscape of the west, enough to be in a painting. But that’s not the Sandy I know. The Sandy I know, the one right in front of me, I know exactly what he is.

He’s just a man. Fallible, as weak as any other.

He’s no hero, no gunslinging maiden saver. He’s no actor. He’s no knight in shining armour — don’t even shine his boots most times.

And he’s certainly not Carlyle.

That night, I put myself to bed and I dream of things that I forget about in the morning, save for the feelings that linger. Warmth, contentment, safety.

Then it’s back to work.

[saltyxtides]

MONTGOMERY WARDEYN && DR. WARDEYN.

Monty was too in her own head to catch on this wasn't her brother. Witch gifts or not it was a pretty big leap to go assuming someone had gone and switched bodies even if someone was acting a little off.

All she really knew was her brother kept calling her impatient when she already told him she had a Valentine's date waiting. She rather liked the idea of keeping a guy waiting a little. It keeps them in anticipation and lets them know she's hardly desperate. They weren't THAT important. So, she didn't mind too much playing out her brother's incessant need to check up on his mother.

He continued to say things that seemed a little weird, but he was weird, so she just kept thinking he's having a weirder day than usual. It must be the holiday hype. The excitement must be too much for wee Bayden and his boring life.

Leave his meds out this. Blah blah blah. She rolled her eyes.

As for ponies and Star Wars? She turned it around on him.

"Of course I do. Every time you call the family tv."

Monty would show no apparent attention or notice to the apparition or vision showing all the more it was all in Celeste's view. Well, Celeste's view from within Bayden's body, or so it would seem.

Monty crossed her arms as her brother kept dragging out reasons to dance. That was the most unusual. It was usually him begging her to hurry up and she'd be lucky if he wasn't begging for more when it was over and have to put her foot down.

There he was trying to be clever again with the sparklers from last July still sitting in the garage.

"Okay. Okay. Cute."

Then Bayden decided to put on a song through his phone though she always had hers ready for him. The theme was appropriate to her. Unknown to Celeste, or maybe she did, but it was a song the brother and sister had shared before. If Celeste got anything right wearing a Bayden skin suit, she got that right. It was his passive aggessive attitude on the world all wrapped up in a song. Passive aggression was something Bayden was great at reading and dishing. Maybe Celestis just liked the song or maybe she found it on his playlists and just chose randomly. Whatever reason Celeste chose it the real Bayden may never get to know. But, that was what no one understood about Bayden at this point in his life that actually knew him. Maybe he was set up, but it didn't matter. He chose every step along the way. He chose to stay in this bumsack asylum of a Hellspace and make it his own paradise. He fucking loved his mother and sister in spite of it all.

Then Monty would finally get that traditional dance, the one Bayden and she had every year. This is when from within the windows of Bayden's blue eyes Celeste would actually see the family fun he clings to.

Monty would dance.

She wouldn't just stand there like a lump at her brother's side tracking the time like she wanted it to be over already. No. She smiled. She swayed. She whooshed her hair to the side and curled his tattooed hands into hers in a playful way. She'd giggle and try to make him turn out to spin her. She'd even sing the last few lines out loud with him like the song was a celebration between them and their life was a party nobody else was invited to. It'd be a proper dance that got a little silly and rambunctious near the end.

"My waaaaaaay!"

Then they'd see a flash because of course late in life Judith would have her flash set on her phone.

"Aww, my BayBay. Home. My sweet perfect children."

Jude entered the room with a light in her eyes, a dainty glass in her hand, and satin robe, and bare feet.

"I didn't know you were coming. What a perfect night."

She sounded too tipsy and full of joy to be upset Monty pulled Bayden home without permission first.

"I got it." She shook her phone. She was so happy she managed to get a shot of them dancing. She stuck her tongue out at them feeling sneaky.

She'd come right up and embrace Bayden like she hadn't seen him in years. It was certainly a special ocassion greeting hug. She'd start popping kisses all over the side of his cheeks while she had him in her grasp.

There was an experience Celestis would never have known from her own psychiatrist. Kisses and hugs like family instead of professional distance. Now she was inside Bayden's body really getting the Bayden's life experience.

Then she'd twirl her finger, "Keep it going Monty-girl. My stunning girl." She meant the music. "Let it run." She didn't know who's phone it was coming from. Her hips would sway and she took Monty's hand and they'd take a moment to dance a square or two around the family room.

She'd swirl her way over to the counter and leaned as the joy never stopped. "I'm next, you know." She pointed at Bayden. "You're giving your momma a dance too. I want a dance from my boy. My boy. My boy. My boy who came to save me from having to spend Valentine's dancing alone." She was refilling her glass.

Even Monty would stroke Bayden's ego here and say, "You know he's always there to save you, Mom."

"Oh, I know. I know. My boy loves me. What do you got?" She teased Monty.

Monty laughed and smiled, "A date. I'll leave this to you two."

It was all a fun and fancy free type feeling the moment Jude entered the room. She wasn't in director mode. She was in mom mode in the comfort of her own home.

"No no. One more before you go." Jude plead so tickled inside by the whole thing. "Then you can make those boys out there suffer wanting you. My so pretty girl."

Then Celeste would have to stand there in Bayden's body and watch as mother and daughter danced a fun and laughter filled dance Witchraft. Another Frankie song. "Pull me some Witchcraft, BayBay." She knew Bayden would have a whole playlist of Sinatra because she knew her brother. The song would just make the pair laugh and giggle. Jude would throw her head back as Monty spun her. This was Wardeyn family fun.

He... she could watch as the mother/daughter pair shared some fun filled laughter in the family room. Monty called over, "Look what you got me into, Bay." But, she wouldn't look upset at all. Just fun and silliness.

Jude would put the back of her hand on her head after like she was winded with glee. "Oh my. These dancing feet still have a little kick in them." She went over to take a sip of her glass.

Monty would finally pick up her phone to leave. She hadn't seen Bayden's text just yet. She was too busy with the momma ambush. As she gathered her handbag to go and with Jude so happy, to the outside looking in, it might have looked like the most normal happy family ever. They could be a beautiful family portrait. The real Bayden lived for these moments sitting in his little assisted living house watching his old home from afar. They didn't come often.

---

The real Bayden back at the asylum was still in Rowan's body, the girl who Celestis jumped into and who's body he always knew as his friend Rowan until recently. The girl who he'd known for so many years wasn't even the girl he thought she was, but in that he also came to realize no matter what name she went by, it had always been the same person since he'd known that body whether she'd stolen it or not. Accidently or not.

But right now none of that was in his-her head. He was Rowan now. The only thing in his head was knowing he was missing time with his sister. She only came once a month unless there was a holiday. Inside he was longing for it. Every time his mother passed him in the halls of Briarcliff and didn't recognize him he didn't feel the freedom he thought he might. He felt lost. Absolutely misplaced. He felt like he was slowly disappearing like he might just vanish. For as many times as he wished to be invisible the feeling was absolutely atrocious.

He knew if this was how Celestis felt every time she accidently touched someone her life fucking sucked. No wonder she wanted to sit around in Briarcliff and waste away.

He put on a dress. It was Valentine's Day. There was always some games and fun in the community room. It took everything in him to not cry. He tried to focus on going out to join Clarrissa. She might have been a mute child, but at least someone still liked him. Even facing Clarrissa without being his complete self felt daunting. She didn't get the same light in her eyes he was used to from being pals for so long in there. It was the same with the nurses. Janet. He had no refuge. The staff he was buddies with, the inside jokes were all gone.

He was trying to get to know her life, but it was hard.

He was alone.

He wasn't sure he could do it. Not today of all days. ( @montywonmom )

Being in Bayden's body — his younger SISTER was b l i s s f u l l y unaware of anything about the real Bayden beneath the surface she knew.

Regardless of there own soulful paranoia in BAYDEN'S b o d y Montgomery would never suspect the outlandish truth — that her OLDER b r o t h e r wasn't her OLDER b r o t h e r today. That idea of a body switch? Even for Montgomery that was a bridge too far.

Even for a WITCH — that was a b r i d g e too far.

But sparklers ablaze as the music started && a song Montgomery shared with Bayden — Bayden's own little PASSIVE a g g r e s i v e anthem — snuck in through there choice. Did THEY k n o w? It was all just a coincidence — as the real Bayden might never know there reasoning — but it DIDN'T m a t t e r to Montgomery.

This song was like a magic spell — an gateway into the kind of private && A N N O Y I N G s i b l i n g ritual they’d share. IF a n y t h i n g — Montgomery would think — he got that right.

At first they HALF h e a r t e d l y played along. Not because they wanted too but because Montgomery was a bundle of to much movement for them to keep up with in the dark as they were waiting for the cue to happen as they practiced so many times before —

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew When I bit off more than I could chew But through it all, when there was doubt

With Montgomery's hand in one of Bayden's tattooed one's they'd finally turn out to spin Montgomery. While the other hand slipped into Bayden's LEATHER j a c k e t sneakily && pulled out the surprise they had for Montgomery the way they imagined over && over && over.

I ate it up and spit it out I faced it all, and I stood tall And did it MY w a y

Letting the cheap chain drop revealing a Pure Silver 1937 Rose & Leaf Spoon Heart Necklace dangling in front of Montgomery when they spun them back in towards them. THERE w a y.

When they were investigating the House during the time they stayed for Christmas as Bayden. They hoped to find answers about the ' History of the House ' && ' Property ' in search of secrets that might help them solve where those things could be stored away but in there investigation they found a stray dusty old silver spoon in the attic.

The tools in the garage worked wonders. Montgomery can't be jealous of DR.W a r d e y n either as they now each have there own pendent.

The bright flash of DR.W a r d e y n ' s phone going off capturing the moment they were putting the necklace on Montgomery.

DAMN. There was a part of them hoping there would be no true record of today. In the kind of way that Bayden won't ever have to look back on the time they weren't there. Why they've done this all there way from the very b e g i n n i n g.

“ Mom! You’re ruining my dramatic moment! ” Exaggeratedly taking on an Emperor Kuzco tone as if emphasizing someone interrupted there groove.

Moments later, when the sounds of their silly little dance party filled the living room, them as Bayden couldn’t help but feel a flicker of dread. In those fleeting seconds, perhaps the weight of the world could be crashing down on them after all. HELP. They are in need of an p s y c h i a t r i s t.

They had grown up without a family of there own && the one they thought was there family betrayed them. This moment sparked a trigger to remember that moment of a traitor. So all that warmth && affection passing between them — the familial closeness was both strange && causing PTSD within them. It's worse when they quickly have to squash it down, burying there problems beneath a Bayden who wrapped there arm around DR. W a r d e y n acting as if they felt the total opposite as they do.

EVERYTHING was n o r m a l. EVERYTHING was f i n e.

As they danced, oblivious to anything but the present, they felt a tinge of worry creeping in the back of there mind. A whisper of doubt about DR. W a r d e y n ' s drinking. As if trying to focus on something else. Anything else. Because being there in that moment was like being in an den of snakes — GRACEFUL yet d e a d l y.

" Looks like I'm not the only one who can pull off some moves, huh? " They quipped as Montgomery && DR. W a r d e y n danced together trying to play along with the lightness of the moment. Messing with the phone to play the song DR. W a r d e y n so suggested. Watching as mother && daughter fell easily into a rhythm of there own swaying to Witchcraft

Trying to craftily pour some of DR. W a r d e y n ' s alcohol down a fake plant . . . as they hoped that was a fake plant! They didn't have enough time to water down DR. W a r d e y n ' s alcohol so pouring a little of them out in the dark in what they pray to be a fake plant worked for them.

HID a f e w open bottles. STOLEN a f e w sips themselves. Glad Montgomery distracted DR. W a r d e y n as they worried something bad would happen to Bayden's mom once they all left — guilty of association if something does happen — the accidents lurking where unfathomable.

“ Oh, you’ll live! ” They quipped playfully, arms crossed, watching them share a moment so simple yet if they were the real Bayden must feel like undeniably precious. Though all they felt was cold anxiousness && fear clawing at there chest.

It felt like they were seeing Bayden’s world through his eyes — this raw — uncomplicated joy that had kept him so fiercely tied to his family. But what Bayden was clinging to && why he might love this HELLs p a c e of a world so fiercely.

Though Bayden also had to wake up too. They mirrored each other in a way — in the kind of way that Bayden's family gave him up — as much as Rowan themselves gave her up. Only difference was they felt they were never going to stop until all that was wronged was righted. While Bayden carried the weight very differently then themselves that took a lot of strength they didn't have.

THAT t r a i t o r was going to pay. If it's the last thing they EVER d o. They just have to remember it all first . . . as it was scattered && fractured for now.

" Don't forget to text me, " They called as they watched a rushed Montgomery leave. Wrapping there arms behind DR. W a r d e y n embracing them from behind, resting there chin on her shoulder gently. " Happy Valentine's Day Mom. " As if they had waited to tell her privately. It seemed like a Bayden thing to do. Though if they were being honest had no idea what to do. Only thing they aimed for was DR. W a r d e y n ' s glass yoinking it out of DR. W a r d e y n ' s hands gently of course.

" You still have enough kick to dance with me? "